Из альбома: Indoor Living
Oh what did I think would happen
Bank robberies and a few drinks slip back in
Every page torn out and a plaintiff penciled in doubt
Color slides on into your ink
Landscapes strung up and still wet
Form all ranges that lay flat
Barely spring but green enough
Obviously scarred but not too tough
Every single instinct running out like regs, every one I ever had
Every fork determent following your lead, evergreens and a foam sea
Formulas and foul lips tied in canvas bags shreded into tiny scabs
Every single instinct running out like regs, every one I ever had
Every single instinct