∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆
∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆
∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆
∆ ∆ ∆ ∆
∆ ∆ ∆ ∆
∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆
∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆
———————————— ∆
∆
It's starting to spit a bit ∆
I like the sound of it ∆ ∆
∆ ∆ ∆
————————————
On sunny days, the green grass seems to breath
The leaves on trees giggle while they shimmy to a sleepy,
yawning wind.
A grumpy ever green is happy closest to the sky and
I think there's something to this nonsense.
Fresh air meets fresh wound,first love, erosion in reverse
Now look at the monster I have made
And the man on the moon
satisfied with watching
bore still and silent witness to it's decay
He took no responsibility for the mess he'd made
and blamed the cook instead
He claimed group mentality for his failure to act
and pinned global warming on Big Foot.
Satan was the culprit, Scientology the evil.
There was guilt on the face of the man on the moon.
You might've seen it too, were it not for that great mushroom in the sky.
You might've seen it too, were it not for that great mushroom in the sky.
There's a mirror in your mind and it's broken; I broke it.
Tricky tears trace escape routes down cranky cheeks.
Your harddrive hemorrhages, confused
Your harddrive hemorrhages, confused
and you spit up what's left of your crooked cross
like broken teeth.
A soul surfaces and slows to a sloppy stop at your open mouth.
With your diet, who knows if it's your own.
a grinding halt says your mouth is mechanical
Fresh air meets fresh wound,first love, erosion in reverse
Now look at the monster I have made
