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Our daydream spills from my gold head |
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Breaks free of my wooden neck |
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Left a nod over sleeping waves |
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Like bobbing bait for bathing cod |
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Floating flocks of candle swans |
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Slowly drift across wax ponds |
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The men all played along to marching drums |
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And boy did they have fun behind the sea |
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They sang, 'So our matching legs are marching clocks |
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And we?re all too small to talk to God |
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Yes, we?re all too smart to talk to God' |
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Toast the fine folks casting silver crumbs |
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To us from the dock |
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Jinxed things ringing as they leak |
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Through tiny cracks in the boardwalk |
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Scarecrow now it?s time to hatch |
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Sprouting sons and ageless daughters |
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Don't you know, don't you know |
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That those watermelon smiles just can?t ripen underwater |
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Just can?t ripen underwater |
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The men all played along to marching drums |
|
And boy did they have fun behind the sea |
|
They sang, 'So our matching legs are marching clocks |
|
And we?re all too small to talk to God |
|
Yeah, we?re all too smart to talk to God |
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Oh, we?re all too smart to talk to God' |
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Oh, waves of wooden legs, waves of wooden legs |
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Waves of wooden legs |
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Waves of wooden legs, waves of wooden legs |
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Waves of wooden legs |
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Waves of wooden legs, waves of wooden legs |
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Waves of wooden legs |
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Waves of wooden legs, waves of wooden legs |
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Waves of wooden legs |
![Behind The Sea [Alternate Version]](/storage/23/225148.jpg "Behind The Sea [Alternate Version]")