| From the mountains to the prairies, little babies
|
| Everybody swims
|
| Right inside of him
|
| As the clouds of my devotion cry upon me
|
| Yellow-paneled walls
|
| Ocre-colored stalls
|
| Listen to the tram as it makes a sound
|
| When’s the right girl gonna come along?
|
| Dark and light and brittle break the light
|
| Truth begins to smile, look me in the eyes
|
| From the train in Manchester, England, the wheels scrape lightly
|
| Colored by the beverages
|
| Balance out the averages
|
| It’s tired bird that swims across the ocean
|
| Curvatures of rain
|
| Bottomed out too late
|
| Listen to the tram as it makes a sound
|
| When’s the right girl gonna come along?
|
| Dark and light and brittle break the light
|
| Truth begins to smile, look me in the eyes
|
| Everybody calls when you make the rounds
|
| Everybody knows when you come to town
|
| Following the white and the nausea
|
| From the train in Manchester, England
|
| Lightning fills the sky
|
| As I see you wave goodbye
|
| From the mountains to the prairies, little babies
|
| Everybody swims
|
| Right inside of him
|
| Listen to the tram as it makes a sound
|
| When’s the right girl gonna come along?
|
| Dark and light and brittle break the light
|
| Truth begins to smile, look me in the eyes
|
| Everybody calls when you make the rounds
|
| Everybody knows when you come to town
|
| Following the white and the nausea |