| I barley recognise myself in hotel mirrors
|
| I got bored before I found myself
|
| At night I disappear
|
| If I can find the plug I pull it out when I am clean
|
| I leftward being just you and me
|
| Not this ocean in-between
|
| And you never stopped your toe going up
|
| And now that’s all you think about
|
| So close to the surface
|
| But still can’t breathe or break it
|
| Sucked into the bells of trumpets
|
| Shout out to the heights of trees
|
| The kind you only ever see in TV documentaries
|
| And I don’t care what you’re saying
|
| Because nothing ever happens for a reason
|
| But that’s what I am told
|
| That’s what I am told
|
| Let’s head south and settle in
|
| Because the city has no sentiment
|
| Pick the fruit
|
| Like Vicodin
|
| Written faces on our money
|
| My hands are rough
|
| But you don’t mind
|
| The silence hangs for the longest time
|
| I swear I feel your skin on mine
|
| You can scuff my shoes
|
| But not my mind
|
| And you never stopped your toe going up
|
| And now that’s all you think about
|
| So close to the surface
|
| But still can’t breathe or break it
|
| Sucked into the bells of trumpets
|
| Shout out to the heights of trees
|
| The kind you only ever see in TV documentaries
|
| And I don’t care what you’re saying
|
| Because nothing ever happens for a reason
|
| But that’s what I am told
|
| That’s what I am told
|
| And you never stopped your toe going up
|
| And now that’s all you think about
|
| So close to the surface
|
| But still can’t breathe or break it
|
| Sucked into the bells of trumpets
|
| Shout out to the heights of trees
|
| The kind you only ever see in TV documentaries
|
| And I don’t care what you’re saying
|
| Because nothing ever happens for a reason
|
| But that’s what I am told
|
| That’s what I am told |