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From the back of my brain, |
|
The confetti burst came |
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And it blew through the balls of my eyes. |
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In the midnight, as loud |
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As a cloud of cocaine |
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And horrendously swollen in size |
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Saw the pen press the text |
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Through the flesh of your neck, |
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And the first line twas writ there was Christ's. |
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I spun silver machine on a high wall of white, |
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Waving cream that sends streams from his side. |
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'Cause he's out on the rays of light. |
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And dark, dirty streams |
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That out came from our dreams |
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Leaves a black trail of grease through the snow. |
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And is there a hotel there or is there a hole |
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Where our bodies all aching and aging can go? |
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Oh, I lept from the mountain and mid-falling down, |
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Ran my trembling hands down your spine. |
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'Cause you have been curtly holding a mean |
|
Will hopefully always be mine. |
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And 'cause you're out on the rays of light. |
|
In the storm's scream and swirl's |
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Where I spotted my girl; |
|
I was pinning her straight to my side. |
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When the devil all dinged up and dragonfly wing |
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Dropped his head in my lap and he cried, |
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'Now we're right out on that line.' |
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Once I spotted my man |
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Sweeping over the sand, |
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And the ambulance lamps in his eyes, |
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And the smell of black blood on the backs of his hands; |
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I could tell that his world can't be mine. |
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When he says, |
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'The eye seems to spin just fine. |
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All through space; |
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All through bladeless night; |
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All on the plain over rays of light. |
