| He’s got too much pride
|
| Lord, if you could see it in his navy eyes
|
| Life is never painted in the black and white
|
| Or with the gray between
|
| It’s got too much light
|
| Silver coins that tremble in the bruise of night
|
| Moon that blinks before the tangerine
|
| And broken stains of morning sky
|
| And scattered on the birch trees
|
| Are the mockingbirds who disagree
|
| On everything that flits to mind
|
| What’s lost and what’s just hard to find
|
| And blaring on the silver box
|
| Are those who are only there to talk
|
| So I will find a better way to speak
|
| She’s got a new fake tan
|
| Drinking pop culture from a silver can
|
| Staring from her bed into a lava lamp
|
| That bubbles up her thoughts
|
| About money and time
|
| Things that share a problematic love life
|
| They’ll help you cut yourself up with a butter knife
|
| Just when you hit your prime
|
| And scattered on the dirty streets
|
| Are the broken souls who disagree
|
| And beg for what you’re offering
|
| And all the while we’re promising
|
| That rain will fall on fertile ground
|
| There’s no lost cause that can’t be found
|
| So I will find the growth in every seed
|
| Well it’s a sketchy scene
|
| Bottlecaps littering the pothole street
|
| Smoky waves of air in the crushing heat
|
| Of nighttime in LA
|
| And in the local park
|
| Boys flinging curse words into the dark
|
| Waiting for the day they’ll mend their splintered hearts
|
| In duct tape displays
|
| I’m standing by a marble wall
|
| Carving epitaphs of human fault
|
| Why spend my whole life wondering
|
| If I find lies more comforting
|
| How can I invest my faith
|
| If what you give is what you take
|
| But I will try to find the in between
|
| Credits |