| Song | Smart Flesh |
| Artist | The Low Anthem |
| Artist | Ben Knox Miller |
| Artist | YoungStar |
| Artist | Jocie Adams |
| Artist | YoungStar |
| Album | Smart Flesh |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| See the high-wire man, there before the sun | |
| He goes home at night, where he beats on his son | |
| The playwright in the attic, in his skylight of sun | |
| Has a cigarette on his lip | |
| And the sun beats down, on the smart smart flesh | |
| It comes down from high, on its heavenly stead | |
| Suggesting redemption, will be easily possessed | |
| For less than a pound of flesh | |
| And it’s terribly important, to every man of estate | |
| To settle the score, write the record straight | |
| So he may free his slaves, where on the deathbed he lays | |
| Such sweet and knowing flesh | |
| Knowing in the end, you’ll be alone | |
| For lonely death does creep | |
| So hire yourself, a chimney maid | |
| And smoke yourself to sleep | |
| Among the mannequin men, all dressed and adorned | |
| My manic depressive true love she leaves me forlorn | |
| The rooster crows, at daybreak the pawn | |
| Has a cigarette on his lip | |
| Saying, “Pretty girls go and take your time | |
| For Lord only knows how you have taken mine | |
| I’ve chased them clear through the ends of time | |
| To hold the smart smart flesh” | |
| Knowing in the end, you’ll be alone | |
| For lonely death does creep | |
| So hire yourself, a chimney maid | |
| And smoke yourself to sleep | |
| Now the hateful playwright, each time that he dies | |
| Must visit the judge in a new disguise | |
| Saying, “Judge in your robes, oh judge so wise | |
| There’s something on your lip” | |
| And the man of estate, each time he dies | |
| Must clear the black pages that tarnish the mind | |
| In a bible and a bath, of formaldehyde | |
| He soaks the smart smart flesh | |
| Saying in the end, you’ll be alone | |
| For lonely death does creep | |
| So hire yourself, a chimney maid | |
| And smoke yourself to sleep | |
| Now the unknowing tumor, is fixing its home | |
| In the damp bed of the catacomb | |
| As the raging war, on the high wire unfolds | |
| She buries her teeth in the flesh | |
| Now the world’s a machine, do you know that it’s true? | |
| For the soul hovers idly just outside the room | |
| It loves itself wildly, but what can it do | |
| A cigarette on its lip |
| See the highwire man, there before the sun | |
| He goes home at night, where he beats on his son | |
| The playwright in the attic, in his skylight of sun | |
| Has a cigarette on his lip | |
| And the sun beats down, on the smart smart flesh | |
| It comes down from high, on its heavenly stead | |
| Suggesting redemption, will be easily possessed | |
| For less than a pound of flesh | |
| And it' s terribly important, to every man of estate | |
| To settle the score, write the record straight | |
| So he may free his slaves, where on the deathbed he lays | |
| Such sweet and knowing flesh | |
| Knowing in the end, you' ll be alone | |
| For lonely death does creep | |
| So hire yourself, a chimney maid | |
| And smoke yourself to sleep | |
| Among the mannequin men, all dressed and adorned | |
| My manic depressive true love she leaves me forlorn | |
| The rooster crows, at daybreak the pawn | |
| Has a cigarette on his lip | |
| Saying, " Pretty girls go and take your time | |
| For Lord only knows how you have taken mine | |
| I' ve chased them clear through the ends of time | |
| To hold the smart smart flesh" | |
| Knowing in the end, you' ll be alone | |
| For lonely death does creep | |
| So hire yourself, a chimney maid | |
| And smoke yourself to sleep | |
| Now the hateful playwright, each time that he dies | |
| Must visit the judge in a new disguise | |
| Saying, " Judge in your robes, oh judge so wise | |
| There' s something on your lip" | |
| And the man of estate, each time he dies | |
| Must clear the black pages that tarnish the mind | |
| In a bible and a bath, of formaldehyde | |
| He soaks the smart smart flesh | |
| Saying in the end, you' ll be alone | |
| For lonely death does creep | |
| So hire yourself, a chimney maid | |
| And smoke yourself to sleep | |
| Now the unknowing tumor, is fixing its home | |
| In the damp bed of the catacomb | |
| As the raging war, on the high wire unfolds | |
| She buries her teeth in the flesh | |
| Now the world' s a machine, do you know that it' s true? | |
| For the soul hovers idly just outside the room | |
| It loves itself wildly, but what can it do | |
| A cigarette on its lip |
| See the highwire man, there before the sun | |
| He goes home at night, where he beats on his son | |
| The playwright in the attic, in his skylight of sun | |
| Has a cigarette on his lip | |
| And the sun beats down, on the smart smart flesh | |
| It comes down from high, on its heavenly stead | |
| Suggesting redemption, will be easily possessed | |
| For less than a pound of flesh | |
| And it' s terribly important, to every man of estate | |
| To settle the score, write the record straight | |
| So he may free his slaves, where on the deathbed he lays | |
| Such sweet and knowing flesh | |
| Knowing in the end, you' ll be alone | |
| For lonely death does creep | |
| So hire yourself, a chimney maid | |
| And smoke yourself to sleep | |
| Among the mannequin men, all dressed and adorned | |
| My manic depressive true love she leaves me forlorn | |
| The rooster crows, at daybreak the pawn | |
| Has a cigarette on his lip | |
| Saying, " Pretty girls go and take your time | |
| For Lord only knows how you have taken mine | |
| I' ve chased them clear through the ends of time | |
| To hold the smart smart flesh" | |
| Knowing in the end, you' ll be alone | |
| For lonely death does creep | |
| So hire yourself, a chimney maid | |
| And smoke yourself to sleep | |
| Now the hateful playwright, each time that he dies | |
| Must visit the judge in a new disguise | |
| Saying, " Judge in your robes, oh judge so wise | |
| There' s something on your lip" | |
| And the man of estate, each time he dies | |
| Must clear the black pages that tarnish the mind | |
| In a bible and a bath, of formaldehyde | |
| He soaks the smart smart flesh | |
| Saying in the end, you' ll be alone | |
| For lonely death does creep | |
| So hire yourself, a chimney maid | |
| And smoke yourself to sleep | |
| Now the unknowing tumor, is fixing its home | |
| In the damp bed of the catacomb | |
| As the raging war, on the high wire unfolds | |
| She buries her teeth in the flesh | |
| Now the world' s a machine, do you know that it' s true? | |
| For the soul hovers idly just outside the room | |
| It loves itself wildly, but what can it do | |
| A cigarette on its lip |