out of your personal scripture, philomel, she comes.
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you sing songs to everyone about love and law and guns.
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but paint a dirtier picture,
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and i think you know the one: you're not saving anyone.
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you're not saving anyone.
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oh, just open your door.
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be a flaneur once more.
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you're not walking anymore,
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you're not talking anymore.
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overturning the strictures,
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you leave yourself with none of your sinners to be saved,
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or your comforts that you crave.
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it's a volatile mixture: the zealot and the rum.
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so you knew it couldnt be won;
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still hard lost because hard run.
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so here's to things that console,
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and to at least knowing your role, and to never being done.
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you're a rabbit on the run.
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ne, ne travaillez jamais:
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no, never work, that's what they say.
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mais ne, ne, ne, nous n'arretons pas:
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no, dont lets stop until it's done.
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you're a rabbit on the run.
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2nd Ave, 11 AM
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| Ted Leo & The Pharmacists |
