the sun's a strange light nothing grows right anymore
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scars on every stalk
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whose mouth should i use to talk?
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the force that marks the routine
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temperature whatever degrees create the bad thing
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and lay our heads in it now
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it's hard to punch the clock on the site where production stopped
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i'm just a warehouse filled with junk
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some somethings for some someones tacking
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time with tracking eye tectonic shifts one nerve at a time
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i lay my head in it a hundred plans to fortify beige concrete foes on for miles
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hiding cities under it fill my mouth with with non-mouth spit there was a light at
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the window there was light under the door but it's not there anymore
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(come on over get your shoes on put your feet on baby come on over)
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Strangelight
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| Fugazi |
