| Evil S.I.S. |
| to find a shore
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| A beast that doesn’t quiver anymore
|
| And we could crush some plants to paint my walls
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| And I won’t try to fight in the weekend wars
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| Was I? |
| I was too lazy to bathe
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| Or paint or write or try to make a change
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| Now I can shoot a gun to kill my lunch
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| And I don’t have to love or think too much
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| Instant battle plans written on the sidewalk
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| Mental mystics in a twisted metal car
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| Tried to amplify the sound of light and love
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| Christ is cursed of fathers and martyrs
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| Might even take a knife to split a hair
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| Or even scare the children off my lawn
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| Giving us time to make the makeshift bombs
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| Every mess invested was a score
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| We couldn’t use computers anymore
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| But it’s difficult to win unless you’re bored
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| And you might have to plan for the weekend wars
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| Try to break my heart, I’ll drive to Arizona
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| It might take a hundred years to grow an arm
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| I’ll sit and listen to the sound of sand and cold
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| Twisted diamond heart, I’m the weekend warrior
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| My predictions are the only things I have
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| I can amplify the sound of light and love
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| I’m a curse and I’m a sound
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| When I open up my mouth
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| There’s a reason I don’t win
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| I don’t know how to begin
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| I’m a curse and I’m a sound
|
| When I open up my mouth
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| There’s a reason I don’t win
|
| I don’t know how to begin
|
| I’m a curse and I’m a sound
|
| When I open up my mouth
|
| There’s a reason I don’t win
|
| I don’t know how to begin
|
| I’m a curse and I’m a sound
|
| When I open up my mouth |