| My spine is the bassline, and the top line
|
| Could be broken glass
|
| All amusing views of those better men
|
| Dirty habits' hand on the purses' strings
|
| Quiet fear of the passing time
|
| Gently magnify the dividing line
|
| All this history could be blown away on a breath of lust
|
| Trajectory, synchronicity, how the choice is made with a fresh resolve
|
| Jamming tight up to the barrier
|
| Down a string of nerves so these feelings go
|
| My spine is the bassline and the top line is the distant past
|
| All that history, all those books have gone
|
| They’ve been blown away on a breath of lust
|
| No Guts, No Blood: No Brains At All
|
| (spoken)
|
| He can rip out the chassis and gearbox, could replace it with the neck and the
|
| chest
|
| He can feel it in the back of the ribcage, he can kick it 'til it gets in the
|
| sense
|
| He’s been thinking about dying in public, he’s been tensing up his arms and his
|
| legs
|
| He can have you home in a heap in a heartbeat, He’ll go messing with the Civil
|
| Defense
|
| There’s no joy in the squander of resource, there’s more passion in the pump of
|
| a plug
|
| He can leave you at the club with the cashbox, he can push you at the pressure
|
| above
|
| (repeat, and fade) |