| Hurled to the center of the earth again
|
| The place where it’s hot love, you know it hurts to breathe in
|
| And the watershed you balance on is begging it
|
| Well, did he ever know, will he ever know?
|
| The trees in the moonshine are a dark lattice
|
| So you catalog every angle you notice
|
| In a vacuum you are charged to record this
|
| So you won’t make it easy on me
|
| I can’t go into this no more
|
| It puts too many thorns on my mind
|
| And the necessary balloon lies a corpse on the floor
|
| We’ve pissed on far too many sprites
|
| And they’re all standing up for their rights
|
| Born on a desert floor, you’ve the deepest thirst
|
| And you came to my sweet shore to indulge it
|
| With the warm and dreaming eyes of an orphan
|
| But there was not enough, there is not enough
|
| Out of a gunnysack fall red rabbits
|
| Into the crucible to be rendered an emulsion
|
| And we can’t allow a chance they’d restore themselves
|
| So we can’t make it easy on you
|
| Undaunted, you bathe in hollow cries
|
| The boys with swollen, sunburnt eyes
|
| A reward for letting nothing under their skin
|
| So help me, I don’t know, I might
|
| Just give the old dark side a try
|
| (oh-ah)
|
| Don’t cast your whirling eyes on the shore 'til we even the score
|
| (oh-ah)
|
| I still owe you for the hole in the floor and the ghost in the hall
|
| (oh-ah)
|
| Who decides who paddles over the falls?
|
| Yeah, who makes the call, who makes the call?
|
| I know there’s an eventual
|
| Release from every scale of crime
|
| But the necessary balloon lies a corpse on the floor
|
| We’ve pissed on far too many
|
| Good intentions
|
| Held by clever sprites
|
| And they’re all standing up for their rights |