Fogert This Evening

歌詞

There's a neon pink werewolf Suspended above The ceiling of The sunken sunset sky That plucks All of the out of all time infants From the brimming black of birth And drops them gently down on earth Much too soon/not nearly soon enough With palettes for palms, they wipe off on the pants-thigh Of out-of-place outfits... Sobbing psalms in hot-houses, Tangled up in cables and vines. An American mensch Wrestles the western present In his half-ass-ded portrait Under surveillance His dark matter informed by national ghost anthems and moonlit leopard eyes. But what with everyone as confused as everyone, The moment, chasing it's own tail, by the time he tried to do his vocals The loops had all drifted out of time On the shitty 4-track beat. And he fell asleep. In the un-lush foreground. Nothing was lined up. The truth was marching in (place).