I - I'm the wall of sand, and stone, and
|
you - you're some kind of ivy
|
I'm trying to hold
|
as best as I can.
|
|
But I'm a disaster!
|
I could not be burning faster!
|
I stick my arms into webs!
|
|
I take my meals with weirdos,
|
and play with my rocket ships.
|
And all the while, you -
|
- you - are so composed.
|
|
You are the most gracious thing I know -
|
touched by cooking fires, touched by snow.
|
|
And I - I think you're fantastic,
|
and I - I know that you care.
|
I'll put my rockets away,
|
if you let fall
|
your house of skin and air.
|
|
I've been running off of fumes, again.
|
I've been running off my mouth.
|
|
I've been running in the hours
|
between midnight and dawn
|
in the direction of the moon,
|
with the impression
|
that's the way to find your house.
|
|
So hey, have you built your bastion?
|
And hey, how long can you put up with these questions,
|
when you've got nowhere to go
|
except into the terrible air?
|
|
And I - I think you're fantastic,
|
and I - I know that you care.
|
I'll put my rockets away,
|
if you let fall
|
your house of skin and
|
|
- Erring on the side of caution - apparently past,
|
come down from the rim of that crystal glass.
|
|
I - I'm wall of sand, and stone, and
|
you - you're some kind of ivy
|
I'm trying to hold
|
as best as I can.
|
|
-----------------
|
In The Direction Of The Moon
|
| Wolf Parade |
