Oh, you trumpets, you petty thieves, stealing creases from honest sleeves.
From the folds of the white around her waist. Delicate stems; your unready taste. They say I’m a sorry sigh.
It’s free-fall fadedly for potential, not enough to eat. Oh, you tables, your all fucking insane. Conditional lovers with losses to claim. Say I’m a sorry sigh.
You’re half right, you’re mostly right. You’re half right, you’re mostly right.
When trumpets sound, I’m getting out. The pavements proud, I’m getting out. I’m getting out. I’m getting out.
I cannot take this anymo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ore Saying everything I've said befo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ore All these words they make…
(Hey, you're really crazy... You know that?) I thought that I was calling up my…
I've been sucking morning Waiting for the beat I've been running circles Searching for the…