1. |
Clifford Clown Horse
04:38
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There are better ways to leave a mark
than doing card tricks all in the dark.
So speak, though you're sandwiched in,
because you can't make a mess unless your vested-in,
and despite my itches I've got to keep my
motives hard to come by.
Wind me up in your stave,
I love a lot of things that misbehave,
you've got billboards and broad strokes for tonight,
but you'll falter when I hit the light.
Don't count your words before the pen's in your hand,
this side is desperate to be green.
Don't count your words because you don't understand,
what you're becoming to mean.
Wind me up in your stave,
I love a lot of things that misbehave,
you've got billboards and broad strokes for tonight,
but you'll falter when I hit the light.
It's a product of academic distillation;
Speak, though you're sandwiched in, (put it in a nutshell)
and I'll play the part of all of the people left awake,
you're passing undetected.
Hold this plan while I flee from off the
branches of this stubborn tree
that wouldn't climb be.
We're too small to come by.
What are you going to say to the scars on my insides?
Show me your darker side and I'll
give you the password to cross my mind,
but despite my wishes you're going to be my
words I wish I lived by.
Wind me up in your stave,
I love a lot of things that misbehave,
you've got forty more hours to get out of my sight
or I'll falter when you hit the light.
If it's fate or foresight,
you've got gloves, and I've got
hands to wash;
we're lights and we're moths.
We'll chase ourselves
round the corners to where the blood stops;
we're spills and we're mops.
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2. |
Soup of the Moment
05:19
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|
I'm whittling out the verses
and the lines that make me realise,
this little snappy heart is going to
beat just a little bit faster
every time the sun gets in your eyes
and the stinging sets in
and you're singing that maybe, maybe,
I'm just much better when I'm making a mistake.
We've got something to play with,
like the birds and the bears,
like naughty kids on stairs.
You're a fact check on my train wreck,
and all hands are on deck.
The semaphore on your open core
is holding all kinds of dares
to see just which one cares.
And please don't let it be me.
Don't let it be me.
Drying out.
Wearing thin.
Making tracks.
All caught up and flying our kite,
but you can't go out the weather's not right yet.
It's all too good to last.
My friends all lied and said.
It's fine.
It happens to everyone.
The secret I despise is,
you're something to get to
if only I'll let you
claim that this fall meant
anything at all.
So call it a surprise when the
feeling I get when you're fiery wet
is a four legged waltz;
all breaks no faults.
You smell unkind, but don't you worry,
I haven't got in in me.
It spells rewind, but don't you worry,
I haven't got the time.
To throw your maypoles away from you.
Be sure your mountains will stay in view.
I'll cut right down to the bone,
to believe what I've only known,
I'm breaking your trust going tactile to numb
with my guardian angels stuck under my thumb
and we'll take our chances with "no wrong answers"
just screaming "c'est la vie!"
I paint the red in me.
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