| A daydream spills from my corked head
|
| Breaks free of my wooden neck
|
| Left to nod over sleeping waves
|
| Like bobbing bait for bathing cod
|
| Floating flocks of candled swans
|
| Slowly drift across wax ponds
|
| The men all played along to marching drums
|
| And, boy, did they have fun, behind the sea
|
| They sang, (Hey!) so our matching legs are marching clocks
|
| And we’re all too small to talk to God
|
| Yes, we’re all too smart to talk to God
|
| Toast the fine folks casting silver crumbs
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| To us from the dock
|
| Jinxed things ringing as they leak
|
| Through tiny cracks in the boardwalk
|
| Scarecrow, now it’s time to hatch
|
| Sprouting suns and ageless daughters
|
| Don’t you know, don’t you know
|
| That those watermelon smiles
|
| Just can’t ripen underwater?
|
| Just can’t ripen underwater?
|
| The men all played along to marching drums
|
| And, boy, did they have fun, behind the sea
|
| They sang, (Hey!)
|
| So our matching legs are marching clocks
|
| And we’re all too small to talk to God
|
| Yeah, we’re all too smart to talk to God
|
| Oh, we’re all too smart to talk to God
|
| Oh, legs of wood waves
|
| Waves of wooden legs (Yeah!)
|
| Waves of wooden legs
|
| Legs of wood waves
|
| Waves of wooden legs
|
| Waves of wooden legs
|
| Legs of wood waves
|
| Waves of wooden legs
|
| Waves of wooden legs
|
| Legs of wood waves
|
| Waves of wooden legs
|
| Waves of wooden legs
|
| So close… |