Lyrics Boomerang - The Uncluded

Boomerang

I spun and I stood, and I look back at the good
And I remembered seeing ghosts, and I remembered being tiny
I remembered always hiding with only flashlights lighting
Had to pee when you found the best spot.
Bad timing
Climbing a dogwood.
Barking, in bloom
Sting singing on the ceiling of a blue bedroom
Like a Harlem-line summertime hootenanny barbecue:
Screaming «I'm fine!», but I think they all knew
Cause you can’t hide your childhood flying dreams
Through your fishbowl-wall transparencies
And the clock tick-tocked.
It was time to leave
I walked away from everyone and everything
And I thought when I left, that I couldn’t come back
With that old household never home again
And then, when I ran toward the one-man-band
I began abandoning all my friends
All dressed up, like a spider in a cup
Entirely divided from his hub
Addressing injuries commissioned by the Suffolk county brier
When building coverage out of rubber tires
Or guns out of thumbs…
Negotiated inter-stellar peace talks
Mothership transmitting intel on the meatloaf
Ummm… It’s getting cold, sugar water getting warm
Cruising to a future summer, suiting up for civil war
How?
All dressed up like a spider in a cup
Hiding tiny butterflies inside his gut
Having settled down, several thousand miles from his blood
To climb and tirelessly high-dive into a sponge
Space invaders through a paper Rita Hayworth
Trying to tunnel 'till he ankle deep in pay-dirt
Or halo deep in water…
Glub glub… wondering if running
Is considered by the people to be cowardly or cunning
Boomer-oomerang, Boomer-oomer-oomerang
Boomer-oomerang, Boomer-oomer-oomerang
I went east with a hole to fill in my chest
I went west with it filled: off to build a nest
I’m impressed.
I’m depressed.
I’m the best.
I’m a mess
With a pretty little baby girl upon my breast
And next: progress, twist, turn, digress
Busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, never rest
I missed the rest as you might suspect
And I tried to fly, but my wings are wet
A kid in the woods, ducked down in the shrubs
Out of hiding just in time to greet the sun
So here I stand with my hand out cast aflame
I’m sorry that sometimes I’m so lame
I’m sorry that sometimes I’m a deadbeat friend
The worry makes me scurry into my own head
With my eyes on the rise, feet where it sets
Sentimental obstacles;
of course it’s me not them
All dressed up, like a spider in a cup
I’m four bald tires in the mud
When it’s diner food or bust
Spiralling a sign of whats to come
While pretending I am fine with what I’ve done
I’m not, but homies that appreciate the crisis
And treat 'em like they seen 'em with a second set of eyelids
Ok, that wasn’t fair, admittedly I wasn’t there
Long before I volunteered as unabashed, unaware
How?
All dressed up, like a spider in a cup
Who never knew a silence so abrupt
When the mileage in the middle, turn a siren to a hush
First you hate it, then you love it, then you try it as a crutch
Long Island was the hatchery, NYC the wetstone
Sharpening the carving knives, foraging for breadcrumbs
I headed west, planned to boomerang back
Sidetracked by a trans-continental cage match
Boomer-oomer-oomerang
Boomer-oomer-oomerang
Boomer-oomer-oomerang
Boomer-oomer-oomerang