Hurled to the center of the Earth again,
|
The place where it's hot, love,
|
You know, it hurts to breathe in,
|
And the watershed you balance on is begging it,
|
Well did he ever know,
|
Will he ever know?
|
|
The trees in the moonshine are a dark lattice,
|
So you catalog in the angle you notice,
|
In a vacuum you recharge to record this,
|
So you won't make it easy on me.
|
|
And I can't go into this no more,
|
It puts too many thorns on my mind,
|
And the necessary balloon lies a corpse on the floor,
|
We've pissed on far too many sprites,
|
And they're all standing up for their rights.
|
|
Born on a desert floor, you've the deepest thirst,
|
And you came to my sweet shore to indulge it,
|
With the wan and dreaming eyes of an orphan,
|
But there is not enough,
|
There is not enough.
|
|
Out of a gunnysack for red rabbits,
|
Into the crucible to be rendered an emulsion,
|
And we can't allow a chance they'd restore themselves,
|
So we can't make it easy on you.
|
|
Undaunted, you bathed in hollow cries,
|
The boils were swollen, sunburned eyes,
|
A reward for letting nothing under their skin,
|
So help me, I don't know, I might,
|
Just give the old dark side a try.
|
|
Don't cast your warring eyes on the shore,
|
Did we even the score?
|
I still owe you for the hole in the floor,
|
And the ghost in the hall,
|
Who decides who paddles over the falls?
|
Yeah, who makes the call,
|
Who makes the call?
|
|
Well, I know there's an eventual
|
Release from every scale of crime,
|
But the necessary balloon lies a corpse on the floor,
|
We've pissed on far too many good intentions held by clever sprites,
|
And they're all standing up for their rights.
|
|
-----------------
|
Red Rabbits
|
| The Shins |
