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We were waiting for peter, the dealer, |
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He comes in the evening when were fussing in bed. |
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He says, "good morning, heres your breakfast", |
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And give us plates of stone. |
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Take a pinta blood each from us to give to the poor. |
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We count the windows in the cities and tell each other, |
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Yes, life is a helluva lot of waiting time. |
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Our minds are objects of constipation, |
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Our bodies are subject to dissipation. |
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So keep your intentions in a clear bottle |
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And leave it in the cupboard when youre out. |
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We were waiting for peter, the wheeler, |
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He comes in the morning when were fast asleep. |
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Gives us a trip thats spending hundred years in a day, |
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And takes a bone each from us to give to the dogs. |
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We count the wrinkles on the globe and tell each other, |
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Yes, life is a helluva lot of waiting time. |
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Our minds are objects of constipation, |
|
Our bodies are subject to dissipation. |
|
So keep your intentions in a clear bottle |
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And leave it on the shelf when you rap. |
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We were waiting for peter, the blower, |
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He comes in when were fixing snow on rock. |
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Gives us orange juice laced with sunshine and spring, |
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And takes a heart each from us to give to the world. |
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We count the memories that are lost and tell each other, |
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Yes, life is a helluva lot of waiting time. |
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Our minds are objects of constipation, |
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Our bodies are subject to dissipation. |
|
So keep your intentions in a clear bottle |
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Throw it in the ocean when you go. |
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We were waiting for peter, the weaver, |
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He comes in a flash when we're wide awake |
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Says the world cant give us answers |
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cause its stuttering in its mind. |
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Takes a head each off us to give us some peace. |
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We count the lights in the universe and tell each other, |
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Yes, life is a helluva lot of waiting time. |
