Lambchop

They say you walk around
As if a ghost had
Crossed your path
Or turned into a reading material
as it happens to be chosen
From the torn or taffeta
You're frozen in the
contemplation of a win

ok maybe that was alittle
heavy on the word play
but as first thoughts go
they were mostly to the right
as you register an itch
or the thing that makes you sweat
to accuse the weights
and measures of a lie

When things blink just right
Like they're blinking here tonight
From the corner of my eye
They came, to be

Tell your trouble to
Someone stuck here just like you
Sucking in the smoke
Like it's going out of style

And I'll listen,
To what you have to say
You said it any way to me
And you'll listen
something special is at work
it's really not a chore to me

So put me in a bag
Or bury me in rags
The lady upstairs,
she made, me strong

Can't make it to the bar
Can't make it to the bath
Caught and confused
You give it up for this

Cause, I'll listen
To what you have to say
You said it anyway, though you're not, too sure
I'll listen
Because it means that much to you
You're everything I do, or see

They may not work it out

When things blink just right
Like they're blinking here tonight
From the corner of my eye
They came, to be

Tell your trouble to
Someone stuck here just like you
Sucking in the smoke
Like it's going out of style

And I'll listen,
To what you have to say
You said it any way to me
And you'll listen
something special is at work
it's really not a chore to me

So put me in a bag
Or bury me in rags
The lady upstairs,
she made, me strong

Can't make it to the bar
Can't make it to the bath
Caught and confused
You give it up for this

Cause, I'll listen
To what you have to say
You said it anyway, though you're not, too sure
I'll listen
Because it means that much to you
You're everything I do, or see

They may not work it out

but it just looks plain cold
from the bottle another part of the ritual
standing in the kitchen
arms are braced against the counter swallowing
like mercury down the drain

and the neighbors have been drinking
and they are raising quite a stink pretty soon
they will be fighting it can get pretty ugly

the city makes a hooting sound tonight
he owl on the roof has got it right
if it's left up to him he'll take that stupid grin
decapitate a rodent or a mouse

take the b train or the shuttle
at the exit have a smoke
try to spit onto the sidewalk
instead you wipe it off your chest

I don't wanna freak
but the tongue erodes each time we start to speak
on a timely mission you look pretty swell
in your new position

fiberglass funny face up on the wall
It's funny when it isn't funny at all
and if it's up to him we will take the ways of sin
and smash them like glass against the wall

but it's not to pathetic with your teeth full of rhetoric
and doubt carry on like little creature
in the fields of our love

Wearing a halo of mist
Glowing pink and purple
in the afternoon light
a sprawling from a hub
gave way to patches of green

the wine colored country
unfolded as we tumbled
into our rooms
and our travel kinks
floated away
as we stroked the sunrise
stained the lake a hazy pink

with the jade tree green rivers
or the apple trees
and the thought of wearing our sun screen
and evergreens
are layered
like feathers
at your feet

nothing but a blur from a bullet train
a picturesque
old teahouse
with a carp pond

as trundled out of the tunnel
as trundled out of the tunnel

The gold stereo
stretches out the sound
turns the plates until they're rounded
the whole that you know
gets closer to the ground
closer to that thing you found

Chorus:
for all our massive brains
to call on choked remains
it's painful
it's certain
that something's bound to break
(inside)

this house is not alone
I'm kicking 'round here somewhere
so check behind the ancient speaker
Like painful southern bliss
pured upon like caramel
and garnished with some crushed pecans

To grow is not to grind
to mope is not to mind
the old cap
the geezer
the 15 second teaser

Behold and you know
everyone's a ringer
he's not even a very good singer
The dirt on the tracks
has hardened into clusters
earthen legs and honey mustard

A storm is closing in
our leaves start to spin
It's getting much later
I wish I heard your radio
(tonight)
...

the people in the rain
are staring through our backs
wishing you had half a brain
for all our little pain
tender is the mangle
the science diet the ivory tangle

The world goes away
each every stinking day
I'm getting
much better
this night's little upsetter

the kids out in the street
take their toys and break them
look at them, then walk away
the guy on the cross
is holier than I
but then again he's made from plastic

Chorus