Spilt Needles

(альбом: Wincing The Night Away - 2007)

I've earned myself an impossible crime
Had to paint myself a hole
And fall inside
If it's far enough in sight and rhyme
I get to wear another dress
And count in time

Oh, won't you do me the favor, man
Of a giving my polymorphing opinion here
And your vague outline

Find myself another burning gate
A pretty face, a vague idea I can't relate
And this is what you get for pulling pins
Another hole inside the hole you're in

It's like I'm perched on the handle bars
Of a blind man's bike
No straws to grab, just the rushing wind
On a rolling mind

They'll want you to decide
Eventually, it happens
Some gather on one side
With all their pearly snapping
They close the basement door
That sets our teeth to chatter
You never saw it before
But now that hardly matters

You're old enough, boy
Too many summers you've enjoyed
So spin the wheel
We'll set you up with some odd convictions
'Cause you're finally golden, boy

It's like I'm perched on the handle bars
Of a blind man's bike
No straws to grab, just the rushing wind
On a rolling mind