Из альбома: Split the Country, Split the Street
The bricks get laid,
And they get torn up,
And laid again,
But the bricks always get torn up again
Your friends won't wait,
So don't believe that shit,
When they say they'll wait
Trust me; your friends will not wait for you
Then you'll be stoned in some park,
Just nodding your head and pinching your arms,
When a girl walks along
She's humming your song,
With your t-shirt on
That's when you're done,
Oh, that's when you're done
There's a cotton crush
Down in the southern states
But back up here, man, we've got
So much thread and space
To waste, waste, waste
There's a microphone
Picking every word up
And it shuts itself off
When it's sure that's it's heard enough
The quiet can scrape
All the calm from your bones,
But maybe it should
Maybe we need to be hollowed
To get up and grow,
And stop fucking around,
To kick off our braces and start straightening out
Let's sift through the static
To find a simpler sound
Let's sift through the static
To find a simpler sound
Simpler sound than the shit that's clouding our heads now