
Date of issue: 26.01.2017
Song language: English
Cork of Worry |
I heard a quiet voice say alright |
Good men stumble seven times |
And seven times again they rise |
But that’s his abacus amok |
'Cause when the berth between what is and what’s deserved is this absurd |
I can’t be blamed for waking up expecting the worst |
There are no landings on this staircase |
No banisters to hold |
Just a steep and constant gradient that I keep falling from |
And a spine that’s getting softer 'til I can’t stand on my own |
Paper cranes from folding lives in time |
Paper cranes from folding lives in time |
I’m afraid I’ve spent the life I could have had in truth |
On cheaper thrills and placebo pills and quicker substitutes |
Hoping for scope of heart that’s massive |
Arms of welcome spread obtuse |
And a quiver full of shots to take to pull the cork of worry loose |
So I will wait for answers to rise out of the garden |
And believe the point will come to me in dreams |
And I won’t get up for anything |
I’ll sleep on the floor for weeks |
Ears pressed to the ground, just listening |
Paper cranes from folding lives in time |
Paper cranes from folding lives in time |
Quiver full of shots to take |
Quiver full of shots to take |
Quiver full of shots to take |
Quiver full of shots to take |
Quiver full of shots to take |
Quiver full of shots to take |
Paper cranes from folding lives in time |
Paper cranes from folding lives in time |