Pushing a ribcage
|
Makes it hard to breathe
|
And yet we hold our sweaty hands
|
Year after year
|
Some new year
|
Without music in our head
|
Newspaper tenement coming up dead
|
|
So my paracute is hanging around
|
I guess I bust it on the ground
|
Nothing helps me fall
|
Nothing helps me float
|
Today I want to walk away
|
|
Pushing a ribcage
|
Makes it hard to breathe
|
And yet we whisper in the dark
|
Year after year
|
Some new year
|
Without newness in our head
|
Newspaper tenement coming up dead
|
|
So my paracute is hanging around
|
I guess I bust it on the ground
|
Nothing helps me fall
|
Nothing helps me float
|
Today I want to walk away
|
|
-----------------
|
No parachutes
|
| Throwing Muses |
