Tekster:
Apocrypha

And when our mouths are filled with uninvited tongues of others And the strays are pining for their unrequited mothers Milk that sours is promptly spat

His keeping busier as bitter storms His imaginations and his palindromes It was anything but hear the voice Anything but hear the voice It was anything

When I was just a little boy I threw away all of my action toys While I became obsessed with Operation With hearts and minds and certain glands You gotta

Some people wake up on Monday mornings Barring maelstroms and red flare warnings With no explosions and no surprises Perform a series of exercises Hold

This isn't your song, this isn't your music How can there be wrong, when by committee They choose it all, they choose it all You're gonna grow old, you

a song that silence brings it?s the one that everybody knows oh everybody knows the dong that silence sings and this was how it goes these looms that weave apocryphal

turnstiles on mezzanine jet ways and Dramamine fiends and x-ray machines you were hurling through space g-forces twisting your face breeding superstition

he's keeping busy yeah he's bleeding stones with his machinations and his palindromes it was anything but hear the voice that says that we're all basically

five day forecast bring black tar rains and hellfire while handpicked handler's kid gloves tear at the inseams their Halliburton attache cases are useless