Offer your trust to a friend Who is not what he says And you know when you're dry, what you're thinkin Trout in the brook, you're about to get hooked
You come on like gangbusters laying it thick Arboreal sleat stacks(?) lost in the sticks It's warm for a witch trial Don't you agree? Cold are the hands
Hopscotch Willie Swore he was framed He was a mark not a killer So he declaimed It was a classic example of a fall guy Facts all point to a skinny white
takin' out the wife we're taking out the wife it's that kind of night well everybody talk, everybody listen, nobody breathe take the time let him go
There's no common goal there's no moral action there's no modern age from which to run away There's no grace in love with a known projection there's
Shot through, with new, and now, The thrill of loving someone that you shouldn't love, But it's moving at the pace of the clouds. So pull your little
Wicked, wicked Wanda What was it that spawned ya? Who?s responsible for your trash? A pretty little spider With Hollywood inside her And no time to accommodate
I kinda like the way you dot your J's with giant circles of naivety the kind of circles include everything don't mean to damn you with the faintest praise
Do you want to know where it stands right now? Do you really care what, when, why, or how? I came to crave your spastic touch The honest way you move
I came to call your dare And look you up on all you Claim to want to share Claim to want to share Don?t get into The throng in your head Cause this is
Revelation artistry So fed up with hypocrisy There isn't a label large enough to fit your bill Act like you deserve to win Trade up for a thicker skin
Hate recreated A revelation Uh listen to me I'll tell you I'm about to run The ceiling's are undone Specialized victories For overage whores I felt up
Wake up early in Karakatu, Alaska We put our masks on to welcome the dawn Call the huskies and collide into their fur Fragrant in the overcast Don?t
Jennifer dates a man in a 60s cover band He's the ess-dog, or sean if you wish She's 18, he's 31 She's a rich girl, he's the son Of a coca-cola middle
There once was an empire chase Known as a great, great game And one of it's rooks came from stoke-on-trent And mortimer was his name An impotent tea-
Bleed the pot When you're hot you're hot And when enough is enough Do the fakers drop out? Promise me You will always be Too awake to be famous Too wired
[deado] Feel the work Of the tooth-impacting jerks, Seem to measure you for size, They got metal in their eyes [oh yeah] We're chasin' performance and
"and in a funny way, the shaving of my, uh, head has been a liberation from, uh, a lot of, uh, stupid vanities really. uh, it has simplified everything