| There must be a golden frame
|
| Coming to me
|
| 'Cuz where are you?
|
| Where are you?
|
| Where are you?
|
| The very day when you first heard
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| Your heart beat listens for you still
|
| So I think it’s not so much the painting
|
| As what you give yourself by what you leave
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| Your signature…
|
| On Sundays the ladies took off their wiry, old hats
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| And made donuts in the back of the church
|
| I could always smell them cooking
|
| in the middle of mass
|
| Cakes are prizes at carnivals
|
| Holding hands
|
| That’s a gift of our landscapes
|
| For the heart is always
|
| That one summer night
|
| You stretch it from face to face
|
| Like chewing gum
|
| You can rig it up and hear each other thru a tin can
|
| Now it bakes and hardens like an old dream
|
| under the front porch
|
| where the air is talcum
|
| and Mamma’s eyes are blue
|
| and Father took the Weird Beast
|
| and we’re walking next to you
|
| That is the picture that I see
|
| That is the picture that I see.
|
| The Weird Beast
|
| I brought the Weird Beast here
|
| From Van Nuys Boulevard
|
| So I would not be without a man
|
| When the Tartars reign
|
| Flooded the empty streets of Paris…
|
| And on one of these
|
| Passing boats I thought
|
| I saw the Weird Beast
|
| Speaking in the Russian tongue
|
| Will he kill the Czar?
|
| Will he kill the Czar?
|
| Someday you’ll meet a stranger
|
| Locations everywhere you go
|
| All of the science you’ve kept in bottles
|
| Because someday this dream is going to end
|
| I have this feeling
|
| A Weird Beast is going to come our way
|
| Draw the Weird Beast everywhere you go.
|
| Death speaks the foreign language so
|
| Make sure they hear him breathing. |