I knew a man once.
Let's just call him "you".
Always had a fungus in his roots.
He could never sing the blues,
with a go-go step,
and a twelve bar ruse.
He spent time on choke chains,
Pride gone wild,
Please stop this,
Wonder why you roam with no direction, when,
You're no Kerouac.
You pack a fat frown for your own protection.
If you're feeling trapped again,
Maybe it's you.
If she's not laughing,
Maybe it's you.
Pablo Picasso with an Oscar Wilde-style flow!
All telecaster, baby.
Fuck an epiphone.
The kind of pull that lets you empathize with undertow,
Is the same flame that will burn you when your summer grows cold.
We could have a happy home.
She could be my Jackie-O.
Her smile sparkles like Iraqi gold,
And I'm a dusty buzzard from the road.
But if you feel like acting out,
Then maybe there's an issue with your own account.
And if you want to breeze like a whisper through the trees,
then we can break it down to brass tacks,
We can take you back to the past to a time when your life meant your true love lasts.
There's a beauty in the wind on the mast,
When your nuke's on ice from the submarine crash.
From invasion to occupation,
We tend to keep a close eye on your presentation.
He who doesn't ride on his reputation,
Becomes a magnet for a character assassination.
Rack them with a helmet on,
Packing hits for paragons of bashful perspiration on the brows on comely masons building towers high as deep they're digging basements with an attitude abrasive to the face of confrontation.
released November 5, 2012
Vocals By: Dorian Cohen & Tom Myers
Produced by: Tom Myers
all rights reserved