The sky's full of dirty, aching air,
that's burning a greasy yellow and zooming
Slowly in on everyone, [untie] these fighting sunsets
that will not be fulfilled.
The noise on her eyes is still there,
even when the retina yields in the strain of
The dull, sac religious commandment of an eye for an
eye or a tooth for a truth.
Even the ocean is ghettoized now,
another dirty alleyway that leads nobody home.
When you're so young and full of expectations,
you're looking for that perfect wave
And when you'd like to ride them all/on.
So I ask you from the bottom of my heart,
Is that any way to treat your mother? Red, red, red river, bloody ocean of
Sorrowful memories carry me to the deep blue sea. I hear you. Call me.
Is it true that virtue fell by the wayside?
Not even a mark. And who will lift
The fog of bitterness, who [will sigh] the tide of
regret? Who'll avoid the
Undertow of sentimental drift?
Who can live long on poetry and rats? I don't have
The patience, but what does it cost on the open market?
And who can afford that?
I want to be buried in the bottom of the ocean,
like Shelly Winters in "The
Night of the Hunter". My hair a billowing,
being kissed by the fishes, Sushi
For Shabu. If fishes were wishes I'd have you.
I'd have you. Ahh, I've never
[felt one tremor] that is greed, envy, lust, gluttony, anger, pride.
that's burning a greasy yellow and zooming
Slowly in on everyone, [untie] these fighting sunsets
that will not be fulfilled.
The noise on her eyes is still there,
even when the retina yields in the strain of
The dull, sac religious commandment of an eye for an
eye or a tooth for a truth.
Even the ocean is ghettoized now,
another dirty alleyway that leads nobody home.
When you're so young and full of expectations,
you're looking for that perfect wave
And when you'd like to ride them all/on.
So I ask you from the bottom of my heart,
Is that any way to treat your mother? Red, red, red river, bloody ocean of
Sorrowful memories carry me to the deep blue sea. I hear you. Call me.
Is it true that virtue fell by the wayside?
Not even a mark. And who will lift
The fog of bitterness, who [will sigh] the tide of
regret? Who'll avoid the
Undertow of sentimental drift?
Who can live long on poetry and rats? I don't have
The patience, but what does it cost on the open market?
And who can afford that?
I want to be buried in the bottom of the ocean,
like Shelly Winters in "The
Night of the Hunter". My hair a billowing,
being kissed by the fishes, Sushi
For Shabu. If fishes were wishes I'd have you.
I'd have you. Ahh, I've never
[felt one tremor] that is greed, envy, lust, gluttony, anger, pride.
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