Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Another part of the clown's brain, artist - Themselves. Date of issue: 21.11.2019
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Another part of the clown's brain |
| Whose melancholy state of stubborn shows him the hard place |
| Up close and conjures a lucid quandary |
| The dreamiest paranoia |
| Where’s the rock, the rock, I wanna fix the rock |
| Talk it into being my pal |
| Better yet, my indolent solid-stood apprentice |
| But thanks, but no thanks but, there is no rock |
| Just me, in my gloomy hand-carved hard place |
| No student, no new chew toy for my bootleg |
| Hug and kiss to tear into ribbons |
| Worst of all, all my fuss and careful obsessing |
| Frivolous |
| It gets painted over with lacking and stuffed grotesque missing |
| Now fruitless |
| I set meticulously sharpened traps for bugs |
| With ferocious little mechanized insect-crippling jaws |
| And throw away my junior wizard cap and wand |
| These pupils will be thinner and hopefully |
| Cephalopods |
| (There's nothing, nothing…) |
| Now, I can smile at the cut-out moon |
| And pretend hardcore, it’s comical and made of cardboard |
| In a while, I scamper in it’s film about my quarters |
| Collecting all the intricate sprung death bundles |
| And free the teeny-weeny thingamajiggers dropping them in their |
| Bruised-seeping abdomen’s in a jar |
| One by… |
| (Have you seen them? Have you seen them around? |
| I’ve heard them whispering in the dark somewhere between the floorboards |
| And creeping in the house) |
| A cloudy glass jar of sour miracles… |
| It’s elliptical and made of guts |
| Resonance collected, I tip-toe through wild guesses and wide eyes |
| Dipping, I hope it’s cute, dipping my hairy knuckles and minced cuticles |
| Into the open jar, seconds later… later…aletrlatetr |
| A firm pinch invigorates the dying tensed writhing critter |
| Wriggle, wriggles |
| I would like to look down it’s throat |
| But it only snaps and hisses at my innocent cruelty. |
| Bad, beasty, bad! |
| So be it, it’s rectangular and made of ash |
| (I'm just looking for a friend |
| I’m not looking for someone to break) |
| I lean back into the dim bazaar of my workspace |
| My neat and straightened workspace |
| To… to…seem just… to seem… to… |
| As I suck its thickened pearly stomachs |
| From a throbbing in-caving thorax… |
| I just can’t seem to study |
| Taught in this poor reader’s paradise |
| In these uncomfortably queer sandals |
| A sign, lost appetite, I lean aside |
| Leaning further, a yawn |
| Leaning further back |
| Crack a pointless pencil in my only pocket with no holes |
| Snaps in two, and pokes my skinny leg |
| Kinda reminds me of lightning |
| I don’t believe in Zeus |
| But I’m scared stiff of clowns |
| Look, I’m naked… a wizard, and surely mad. |
| I don’t believe in Zeus |
| But I’m scared stiff of clowns |
| Look, I’m naked… a wizard, and surely mad. |
| I don’t believe in Zeus |
| But I’m scared stiff of clowns |
| Look, I’m naked… a wizard, and nearly happy. |
| It’s circular and made of seasons |
| Pretty, ugly, pretty, ugly, pretty |
| Pacing from desk to sill |
| I turn my mirrors off and on and on and. |
| Then make believe the wolves are telling me it’s midnight |
| Except it’s just the last few hours howling |
| Night, night, I know my desk hates me |
| And so do the traps, jars, nervous ticks and loudmouth pointless pencils |
| It’s okay, alright, because, cause |
| I’m gonna write and write and |
| Marry all its cracks, chips and knots |
| Get them really pregnant |
| Then leave with its friend the chair and all my stationery |
| (No, go, no…) |
| Yum, a breeze, carry me |
| I feel like the other sun |
| The riddles, blend in with the stars |
| In with the crickets, tucked in the middle of somewhere |
| Chirping madly, I’ll be happier alone |
| Naked, where no-one can ever find the crickets |
| Hush… |