From hand to heart and hands to head
|
These gritty teeth grind gears of infrared
|
He crash lands in dull white noise
|
All I hear is static in his voice
|
|
When those sweet red hands
|
Start their whirlwinds
|
And you're the drain
|
|
You're imagining things
|
Your pretend machine
|
Has sticks in its every spoke
|
You're inventing it all
|
From thin air and close calls
|
Welcome to the balancing act
|
|
Your rabbit's foot is hare and hounds
|
And I drag pianos, eyes glued to the ground
|
When he dialed 911
|
Busy signals sang familiar songs
|
Those sweet glad hands
|
Start their whirlwinds
|
And you're the plane
|
|
You're imagining things
|
Your pretend machine
|
Has sticks in its every spoke
|
You're inventing it all
|
From thin air and close calls
|
If we bought the stock we'd be broke
|
|
You taught us to claw
|
|
Put us through your speech
|
If I'm a red anchor
|
Then your coming with me
|
And on the way down
|
We can sleep with the fish
|
As we go into the blue
|
We can both reminisce
|
|
And you better hide
|
Or learn how to climb
|
'cause your coming with me
|
And on the way down
|
You will sleep with the fish
|
'cause your coming with me
|
|
You're imagining things
|
Your pretend machine
|
Has sticks in its every spoke
|
You're inventing it all
|
From thin air and close calls
|
Welcome to the balancing act
|
|
-----------------
|
Whiskey & Ritalin
|
| Fair To Midland |
