Song | Phantom Limb |
Artist | The Shins |
Album | Live At Third Man Records |
Download | Image LRC TXT |
Frozen into coats, | |
White girls of the North, | |
Filed past one, five and one | |
They are the fabled lambs, | |
A Sunday ham, | |
The ancient snow. | |
And they could float above the grass, | |
In circles if they tried, | |
A latent power I'm known to hide, | |
To keep some hope alive, | |
That a girl like I could ever try, | |
Could ever try. | |
So we just skirt the hallway signs, | |
A phantom and a fly, | |
Follow the lines and wonder why | |
There's no connection. | |
And weakened falling eyes, | |
In cheap shots from the tribe, | |
And we're often in Marcus’ porch again, | |
Another afternoon with the gold head tunes, | |
And pilfered booze. | |
We wandered through the mama's house, | |
And the milk from the window lights, | |
Family portrait circa ninety-five, | |
This is that foreign land, | |
With the sprayed on tans, | |
And it all feels fine, | |
Beats circus slime, | |
So, when they tap our mundane heads, | |
To zombie-walk in our stead, | |
This town seems hardly worth our time, | |
And we'll no longer memorize or rhyme, | |
Too far along in our climb, | |
Stepping over what now towers to the sky, | |
With no connection. | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
So, when they tap our sunday heads, | |
To zombie-walk in our stead, | |
This town seems hardly worth our time, | |
And we'll no longer memorize or rhyme, | |
Too far along in our climb, | |
Stepping over what now towers to the sky, | |
With no connection. | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo |
Frozen into coats, | |
White girls of the North, | |
Filed past one, five and one | |
They are the fabled lambs, | |
A Sunday ham, | |
The ancient snow. | |
And they could float above the grass, | |
In circles if they tried, | |
A latent power I' m known to hide, | |
To keep some hope alive, | |
That a girl like I could ever try, | |
Could ever try. | |
So we just skirt the hallway signs, | |
A phantom and a fly, | |
Follow the lines and wonder why | |
There' s no connection. | |
And weakened falling eyes, | |
In cheap shots from the tribe, | |
And we' re often in Marcus' porch again, | |
Another afternoon with the gold head tunes, | |
And pilfered booze. | |
We wandered through the mama' s house, | |
And the milk from the window lights, | |
Family portrait circa ninetyfive, | |
This is that foreign land, | |
With the sprayed on tans, | |
And it all feels fine, | |
Beats circus slime, | |
So, when they tap our mundane heads, | |
To zombiewalk in our stead, | |
This town seems hardly worth our time, | |
And we' ll no longer memorize or rhyme, | |
Too far along in our climb, | |
Stepping over what now towers to the sky, | |
With no connection. | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
So, when they tap our sunday heads, | |
To zombiewalk in our stead, | |
This town seems hardly worth our time, | |
And we' ll no longer memorize or rhyme, | |
Too far along in our climb, | |
Stepping over what now towers to the sky, | |
With no connection. | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo |
Frozen into coats, | |
White girls of the North, | |
Filed past one, five and one | |
They are the fabled lambs, | |
A Sunday ham, | |
The ancient snow. | |
And they could float above the grass, | |
In circles if they tried, | |
A latent power I' m known to hide, | |
To keep some hope alive, | |
That a girl like I could ever try, | |
Could ever try. | |
So we just skirt the hallway signs, | |
A phantom and a fly, | |
Follow the lines and wonder why | |
There' s no connection. | |
And weakened falling eyes, | |
In cheap shots from the tribe, | |
And we' re often in Marcus' porch again, | |
Another afternoon with the gold head tunes, | |
And pilfered booze. | |
We wandered through the mama' s house, | |
And the milk from the window lights, | |
Family portrait circa ninetyfive, | |
This is that foreign land, | |
With the sprayed on tans, | |
And it all feels fine, | |
Beats circus slime, | |
So, when they tap our mundane heads, | |
To zombiewalk in our stead, | |
This town seems hardly worth our time, | |
And we' ll no longer memorize or rhyme, | |
Too far along in our climb, | |
Stepping over what now towers to the sky, | |
With no connection. | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
So, when they tap our sunday heads, | |
To zombiewalk in our stead, | |
This town seems hardly worth our time, | |
And we' ll no longer memorize or rhyme, | |
Too far along in our climb, | |
Stepping over what now towers to the sky, | |
With no connection. | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo | |
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo |