Из альбома: Cryptozoology
there are sheep in the sky, i see them passing the moon
like a razorblade to an eyeball on the movie screen
and their legs reach down past houses and cars,
cutting soft soil, piercing their past.
and the fires are still burning but the concrete never cracks,
i've got a house on the glacier. i'm up to every trick.
every night i hear the limestone rocks rolling past my horse's hoofs.
i've got a hunger, a hunger for the bomb proof.
fold me into something else, press my edges down with nails,
i am outstretched, widespread on the plains
and my hut is made of hay held together by toothpicks.
i am waiting every night for the man with the matchstick.
everyone gets a pair of wings to cross the big lake.
truth is, it's just as impossible as riding on snowflakes
but thanks for the possibility of flying out of this life
but i prefer the hay and the matchstick man because they shine so bright.
so i dig caves in every mountain in search of your soul
and then, when i've found you with my fingers all stiff and cold
i'm gonna kiss you on the forehead and do all i can
to bury you deeper this time to look for you all over again.