And I see high jump kings with roadside stirrups on.
|
When I come back to meet the bear, the sheets are gone.
|
Take over the tombs.
|
Dead lock the circus.
|
Gawking throngs.
|
Hijack the meditation train.
|
We still belong.
|
In Houston, in Oslo, the contracts, the con slow
|
And no sex and no sleep
|
It's hard toe.
|
It's hard speak.
|
And no shoes and no shawl.
|
In high tents
|
The tribe stalls.
|
|
And I see high jump kings with roadside stirrups on.
|
When I come back to meet the bear, the sheets are gone.
|
Take over the tombs.
|
Dead lock the circus.
|
Gawking throngs.
|
Hijack the meditation train.
|
We still belong.
|
In Houston, in Oslo, the contents are read slow.
|
And no scents and no seas.
|
It's hard times.
|
It's hard speak.
|
And tongues crack and jaws fall.
|
In high tents and I stall out.
|
|
Then I'm already on the stairs.
|
My hands are dry. My legs are bare.
|
My feet can't slip across the floor.
|
Take on the door. Take on the door.
|
Six seas, five prints for Houston.
|
Poor Mickey spits.
|
Sidecars will put you in the grave.
|
Slick sights, they treat you just the same.
|
Each time, we hear another call
|
I want it less. You want it more.
|
Clowns take the bitter, bitter share.
|
Sidestep the street. Watch what she wears.
|
I can't leave you here
|
|
-----------------
|
In Houston
|
| Tapes 'n Tapes |
