paroles de chanson By Torpedo or Crohn's (Dntel remix) (radio clean) - WHY?
Sleeping
late*
I
hear
the
sad
horns
of
labor
trucks
sigh.
My
neighbor
walks
by,
High
heels
click
dry
like
half-a-proud
horse
down
Brook.
I
hear
somebody's
babbling
I
mistook
for
a
cavalry,
Whispering
"victory"
to
the
sparks
in
their
kindling.
But
all
their
green
woods
wet,
And
unmet
as
of
yet
by
the
gases
of
flame,
Pressing
against
the
pending
physics
of
my
passed
down
last
name.
Living
in
the
tear
between
two
spaces,
condemned;
In
one
of
the
many
places
you're
not,
I
am.
Hiding
from
my
friends
in
the
bathroom
at
'ThriftTown'
To
write
this
tune
down
Today
after
lunch,
I
got
sick
and
blew
chunks
all
over
my
new
shoes
In
a
lot
behind
'Whole
Foods'.
This
is
a
new
kind
of
blues.
And
what
about
losing
limb
or
loved
one
in
a
duel
dissatisfies
you
of
seems
just?
As
a
kid
I
did
not
shit
my
pants
much;
Why
start
now
with
this
stuff?
And
I
do
not
bluff,
second
caller
gets
bit
by
a
dog
or
Jeff
Dahmer.
Kisses
or
stitches?
No
mitt
for
these
pitches.
Lone
Pone
one,
master
of
the
cheap
pun.
If
I'm
not
raw,
I'm
just
a
bit
underdone.
But
I'd
be
O.K.,
cool
as
a
rail,
if
they'd
just
let
us
have
healthfood
in
hell.
Good
heaven's
background
radiation
and
the
black
arts
of
waiting.
Not
the
same
since
I
switched
my
hair-part
and
started
shaving.
Got
hexed--
my
hidden
hair-gone
corners.
Oh,
I'll
never
be
a
joiner,
life
long
local
foreigner,
I.
Raw-lung,
homegrown
fake
in
coed
naked
choir;
Second
tenor,
highest
rise,
blessed
clever
compromister.
I'll
be
proudly
mouthing
'watermelon'
every
song.
I
put
the
phone
to
my
ear
but
all
I
hear's
a
dial
tone.
Will
they
map
my
skull
and
wrap
my
bones
when
my
wig
is
gone?
No.
I'll
go
unknown
by
torpedo
or
Crohn's,
Only
those
evil
live
to
see
their
own
likeness
in
stone.
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