He
|
Won't ride in
|
Cars anymore
|
It reminds him of
|
Blowjobs
|
That he's a queer
|
And his hair
|
Stuck to the roof, over the wheel
|
Like a pigeon on a tire
|
Goes around
|
And circles over circles
|
And he's a queer
|
And his hair
|
On the roof
|
Like a pigeon
|
Goes around
|
Says he's a man
|
And his eyes
|
And his hair
|
And his eyes
|
Say he's a man
|
He won't ride anymore
|
He won't ride anymore
|
He won't ride anymore
|
|
Home is a rage
|
Feels like a cage
|
Home is what you read
|
How you breathe
|
Home is how you live
|
I feel boxed in
|
I feel boxed in
|
I feel boxed in
|
Think I'll be all right
|
Home is where the heart lies
|
The heart lies
|
The heart lies
|
Welcome home
|
Welcome home
|
Welcome home
|
|
It's under the strangle of winter (?)
|
I only love pieces of things that I hate
|
Like this box, this piece of roof
|
I can't grasp, can't see true
|
A piece of past
|
Days like today
|
Like a decade ago
|
Painful to remember like today
|
|
I've been here another year, another day
|
Ocean waving flies and a child
|
Girl you complain
|
To kiss the rotten broken knee
|
|
You may be dreaming
|
You may be bleeding
|
You may be in this box
|
|
A kitchen is a place where you prepare
|
And clean up
|
Clean up
|
Clean up
|
Clean up
|
|
-----------------
|
Vicky's Box
|
| Throwing Muses |
