Whatever makes you tired
|
the resting always fails
|
Because anywhere
|
you lay yourself's
|
a bed of nails
|
Whenever you exhale
|
I breathe it in the air
|
You offer me a seat
|
in your electric chair
|
Are you safe to leave behind
|
every anchor in your mind
|
You know better than I do
|
so clue me in
|
And every day you ask yourself
|
Why was I born
|
Because every migraine feels
|
like wearing a crown of thorns
|
And all the time
|
I find you crawling on all fours
|
Because any movement sends you
|
falling through trap doors
|
Are you safe to leave behind
|
every anchor in your mind
|
You know better than I do
|
so clue me in
|
Are you safe to leave behind
|
every anchor in your mind
|
You know better than I do
|
so clue me in
|
Your tongue in cheek
|
Too late
|
it's already days and weeks
|
before we can make ends meet
|
Am I right? And you're wrong
|
Too late it already
|
takes too long
|
too much to be flushed with you
|
Oh, too much to be
|
flushed with you
|
Whatever makes you tired
|
the resting always fails
|
Because anywhere
|
you lay yourself's
|
a bed of nails
|
Are you safe to leave behind
|
every anchor in your mind
|
You know better than I do
|
so clue me in
|
Are you safe to leave behind
|
every anchor in your mind
|
You know better than I do
|
so clue me in
|
You know better than I do
|
so clue me in
|
You know better than I do
|
so clue me in
|
cked down
|
and they put you first in line
|
And so you finally ask yourself
|
just how big you are
|
and take your place in a wiser
|
world of bigger motor cars
|
<Intelrude>
|
So Where the hell was Biggles
|
when you needed him
|
last Saturday
|
And where were all the sportsmen
|
who always pulled you though
|
They're all resting down
|
in Cornwall
|
writing up their memoirs
|
for a paper-back edition
|
of the Boy Scout Manual
|
See there! A man born
|
|
-----------------
|
Anchor
|
Cave In |