i know you don't want change
|
but nothing is ever what it used to be
|
grab the rope, hoist yourself up
|
with a copy in head
|
comforted by lions of substance
|
a solutive parade
|
grab the rope, hoist yourself up
|
and drift like ants in hose water
|
|
these three angels used to be attorneys
|
it is such a serious thing to me
|
oh how i search through the memories
|
it is such an experience for me
|
silence creating bold letters like "not" and "better"
|
these three devils used to be apologies
|
these three angels used to be monuments
|
i try to find that feeling from that letter from my consistencies
|
is such a painful thing to see when the shadows didn't bend
|
like now and then
|
these three devils used to be apostrophes
|
so i destroyed a monument, so what
|
|
i know you don't want change
|
but nothing is ever what it used to be
|
grab the rope, hoist yourself up
|
with a copy in head
|
comforted by lions of substance
|
a solutive parade
|
grab the rope, hoist yourself up
|
and drift like ants in hose water
|
|
-----------------
|
St. Broadrick Is In Antarctica
|
| The Sound Of Animals Fighting |
