| When the summer’s young
|
| And nobody has their prices
|
| No one is no one
|
| And nobody in a crisis
|
| There’s no swimming past the drop off
|
| Or feeling sorry for yourself
|
| You don’t go swimming past the drop off
|
| Or else
|
| You’re a pistol, you’re a gun
|
| And suddenly I have no prices
|
| I’m like a friend of Dylan’s, Bob Dylan
|
| Our shovels meeting in some crisis
|
| But there’s no swimming past the drop off
|
| Yeah, we don’t replace ourselves
|
| You don’t go swimming past the drop off
|
| Or else
|
| The fates are amok and spun
|
| Measured and cut
|
| And the past is meant to please us
|
| You’re a comet from earth
|
| In a Kiss Alive shirt
|
| Saying, «Holy fuck, it’s Jesus»
|
| The surface is green
|
| And the dark interweaves
|
| In a lonely iridescence
|
| It’s terribly deep
|
| And the cold is complete
|
| And it only lacks a presence
|
| And nothing else
|
| When the summer is done
|
| And nobody sympathizes
|
| You’re no friend of Dylan’s
|
| Yeah, you won’t see another crisis
|
| There’s no swimming past the drop off
|
| Or feeling sorry for ourselves
|
| You don’t go swimming past the drop off
|
| Or else
|
| Personal stakes
|
| Will get raised and get raised
|
| Till your story gets compelling
|
| If you lacked the sense
|
| Or were willfully dense
|
| Is forever in the telling
|
| The surface is green
|
| And the dark interweaves
|
| In a lonely iridescence
|
| It’s terribly deep
|
| And the cold is complete
|
| And it only lacks your presence
|
| And nothing else
|
| Nothing else
|
| Nothing else
|
| And no one else |