Songtexte:
Biblische

We're just whistling past the graveyard Laughing in backseats and restaurants Don't know ourselves well but so what We know each other Floating down from

On some mentioning of thoughts and of mid-twenties tangent plots Those sad feathery talks that float on all that Tattered teenage applause clapped out

"Backwash districts sprung from Ra's bright hips Reduced to silkscreen hand job new car ego trips And it's just endless combinations of the same old shit

A postcard of apple cores on spit strained wooded floors I spent an evening getting practice looking bored And there's a leaf on the sill but it won't

Did the seesaw nights put their hands on you? I can't really say, I can't really say Are you swinging from the eaves in a tasteful noose? I can't really

Gone for a while And then blink and revile My old habits get confused. They've been placating my mood And selling me cheap solitude But I've run out of

Bourgeois and biblical Hanging on nails Mad metallic icons The old cyclone still compels Your hoity haiku lip curls The onion papers drain Constantinople

"Backwash districts sprung from Ra's bright hips Reduced to silkscreen hand job new car ego trips And it's just endless combinations of the same old

We're just whistling past the graveyard Laughing in backseats and restaurants Don't know ourselves well but so what We know each other Floating down