Garbage

(альбом: Float - 2000)

The ritual goes, same window different visual.

Wing of wax, or wing of gold leaf
Choose one.
Float or plummet 20 thousand cold leagues
My nourishment's provided in the summer
So that I wonder
How y'all chasing dreams when most tangibles still outruns ya
Hail dirty doll immaculate performance
Warm as the march of a billion torches forward to burn what I born at
Cut and paste alertness to current set is provided quick
Shimmy the pirate ship mast, spot the islands on the sovereign in her bow
Facing, let's salute the embrace pertinent generals who turned innocent hermits to burning spectacles.
Flirting with a serpent working overtime
Drain the battery, siphon the poison and flood his majesty's hatchery.
I was riding on the yellow bus to where the brush thickens.
Yeah, an it ain't exactly plush pickin's
I'd rather take the time to burn every last bridge I've ever crossed beneath the sun
Than live my life knowing you may one day follow me over one.
Snake bite
Breath too heavy to hold.
Caught up in the wake of the red witch trying to swim it.
Ran for the sake of dead click stripped of idyllic image
Steal a sloppy earth meal feed my pottery wheel to model colossal vision
Thrill, shrunken with a bucket of pennies
I'ma drag my sneakers through the dirt like alligator bellies
'Til the cloud burst
Honor and a loud thirst submersed in a trap
Little drummer boy vs. thunderclap

In a city of garbage, trying to reap the harvest
Adaption is the trap in which the artist meets the forest
Swing your little axe or be an oak tree if you can
Either way, adapt to circumstance or play you final hand.

No enigma, an attempt to bury the hatchet
Rendered me victim of deviltry plus wounded like stigmatics
Somethin's somethin hazardous
I smell an inch of difference in this mornin's pollution pistons and how the loose ends drift in
My sour patch institutions slipped in amidst the invaders and,
Pardon my tone but,
This garden's grown fucking acres since my visit.
Itching to count the layers in the blizzard to that chapter where my family inserts the dagger and
twists it.
It's the carnival, have you any sweets for my weary kin
It's the carnival, have you any feed for my cheery grin
It's the carnival, welcome, play our games you'll never win
Coz it's that carnival where every freak show spectacle's your friend.
An' I'm a,
Ghostly galleon, tossed upon cloudy seas
Antifreeze to glacier cooking a look of fiery nature
It's the,
Ceiling feeling too heavy to bless the I-beams for a fraction more collapse (I left sorry) that to your door.
Bitching my back to hell's kitchen, back
Burning murder machinery, released regardless of the pardons
Hitchin my life to the leash of one minstrel
Sick of same window different visual
Same agnostic hostage different ritual
Play, cooperative supercolony clash (I heard we have a dust collection let me see it)
Ooh, I duel this underdog verse forced adaption to the marbles of the now
Since then my knuckles haven't once dragged on the ground.

In a city of garbage, trying to reap the harvest
Adaption is the trap in which the artist meets the forest
Swing your little axe or be an oak tree if you can
Either way, adapt to circumstance or play you final hand.

The ritual goes, same window different visual.
The ritual is same fucking window different visual.