1. |
||||
|
Come in, take off your shoes
Cause there's always rubber between us and the ground
Here's to all of the plans we tried to make that didn't happen
Though they would have been nice
You always came to play my music in my garage
The only thing that makes me happy
Took my dog to put her down
She wagged her tail the whole way there
|
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2. |
Anything
05:50
|
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|
Communicating through metaphors
Speaking backwards in tongues
If I seem at all confident
It's just the drink talking
Or that's what you think
Can't translate thoughts into sentences
Now, this one's a wordsmith
So feed us a line
Give it your best, kid
My self-serving jokes
Met by stoic mouths
Anything to get you to smile
I can't think of anything to say
|
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3. |
No One's Home
03:59
|
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|
No one's home
And there's snow on the ground
I dissolve with eyes shut closed
Transcend flesh
Bitter taste of words I haven't said
Programmed stress
Meditate on hands from which you're fed
Bodies rot to make room for babies
Plants breathe out and we breathe in
And days bring sons and daughters
Transcend flesh
Bitter taste of words I haven't said
Programmed stress
Meditate on hands from which you're fed
|
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4. |
Deliver Us
07:44
|
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|
I do my part by not killing spiders
I'm entertained by the drying of paint and accepting kisses from strangers
My ego crushes all my good intentions
The amount of people born and dying each day should make you question your importance
And after all the stupid tasks of each and every day I get rewarded by having time to get my silly thoughts and silly worries sorted into little phrases that don't mean anything
But they make me smile and for a while I will forget everything
I am the weeds that grow between the cracks
There burns a jealousy inside of me as I gaze up at your mighty trees
I cut your swollen belly open
Deliver the child that cries and ushers a new era of dissapointment
|
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5. |
Snowing
05:36
|
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|
O god my head hurts
It's gonna fucking explode
Nobody's out here
I'm completely alone
The crackling choirs of radio wires
Like bees that are drenched in the cum of flowers
Build walls of metaphors behind which I cower
It crawls on all fours
Just for the feeling
Time to put down the horse
|
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