lyrics
He scrapes his feet across the timber,
He chips into the groove,
He moves his hair away,
And he spits upon the truth.
He knows he cannot make you happy,
He forges cavities,
He smokes his lungs away,
And he sits up on the roof.
He paints the ceilings and the shelving,
He busts another move,
He knows that you can’t change,
So the climate must improve.
A pair of flawless, rigid fumblers,
Lost deep within themselves,
Hell knows they’ll never change,
As they blow another fuse.
And with the infidels inside,
Selling pictures of the bride.
People listen from outside,
With their ears open wide.
All those memories washed away,
Down the drain of disarray.
And yet there’s nothing you will say,
So just turn your head away.
Just put your brain into your fingers,
And watch it reach the boil,
Search deep into the core,
And we’ll see if you strike oil.
Now tell her that your heart is with her,
It never went away.
You know what she will say,
And the pressure can uncoil.
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