down at the truck stop where angel works
|
serving the bean god to flannel jerks
|
she's home to her couch ridden heavyweight champ
|
he kisses his wife with aluminum bats
|
princess of waitresses left there to hide
|
under a portrait of Jesus' eyes
|
two holy eyes they hang from the wall
|
two holy eyes still nobody saw
|
|
days go by, here in the fan I'm fine
|
falling off blades sometimes, landing on lies
|
|
crouched in a hallway made safe by the screen
|
covering vowels up with Vogue magazine
|
I touched her hand, asked for her name
|
smiled through a tear drop, she said ashamed
|
and every day since the bells chime regret
|
a fool at the counter, worshipping checks
|
parades catch on fire, we're all born
|
twenty years later the blanket is torn
|
|
days go by, here in the fan I'm fine
|
falling off blades sometimes, landing on lies
|
|
now we're back at my vigil on route 43
|
they'll be NO MORE DREAMS
|
scream at the black birds and Auld Lang Syne
|
he broke the necklace of Ana Ng
|
|
days go by, here in the fan I'm fine
|
falling off blades sometimes, landing on lies
|
days go by, here in the fan I'm fine
|
falling off blades sometimes, landing on lies
|
landing on lies, landing on lies, landing on lies
|
|
-----------------
|
Here In The Fan
|
Army Of Freshmen |