Dead lungs collided.
|
You pour your life down the rifle's spiral
|
And show us you've earned it.
|
Cleric's fog will recede right before your eyes.
|
|
So long to this wretched form.
|
Down gray eyes on the subway.
|
Long before you were born
|
You were always to be a dagger floating
|
Straight to their heart.
|
|
Listen, now, we won't tell anyone.
|
But you're gonna tell the world.
|
So life ain't then any fun.
|
May this rail unfurl.
|
|
As you rise; rise from your burning fiat,
|
Go, go get my suitcase, would you?
|
You've thoroughly blown their mind.
|
And now I must have passage on the lines
|
To the veins from your heart.
|
|
You're not invisible, now.
|
You just don't exist.
|
Your mother must be so proud.
|
You sublimate yourself, drowning us of rich.
|
|
Primitive mirror on the wall,
|
to fortify your grim resolve.
|
And made the glitz of a shopping mall
|
another grain of indigent salt to the sea.
|
|
Go back to this wretched form
|
All them gray eyes on the subway
|
So long before you were born
|
you were always to be a dagger floating
|
straight to their heart.
|
|
-----------------
|
The Rifle's Spiral
|
| The Shins |
