| If I’m the shell and hey it’s Easter
|
| Crack me open and watch my yolk
|
| Splutter out into your arms
|
| Or at least it would if you had your arms open
|
| For now, I’ll watch my yellow pity
|
| Spill out onto the spare room floor
|
| And place my ass in the centre of this cup
|
| I’ll watch you aim — shoot
|
| Yeah
|
| Yeah
|
| Yeah
|
| Yeah
|
| Street lamps have heated my stomach up way too much
|
| And the night air has inflated my head way above anything else…
|
| …before, is that what they said?
|
| Is that what they all think?
|
| Or is that what they all know?
|
| Of course, full of gas so I can fly away
|
| Translucent agendas and late night hotels
|
| Bedroom floors, oh, bedroom floors
|
| And toilet bowls my second home
|
| Translucent agendas and late night hotels
|
| Bedroom floors, oh, bedroom floors
|
| And toilet bowls my second home
|
| Yeah
|
| The sun is only talking to me when my mouth is dry and tied shut
|
| Wrap me up in telephone wires
|
| Disconnect my hormones, I’ll be right back here
|
| Yeah
|
| Yeah
|
| Yeah
|
| Yeah
|
| Street lamps have heated my stomach up way too much
|
| And the night air has inflated my head way above anything else
|
| My head full of images of people I don’t know
|
| We’re at a place called home
|
| Put my halo on my head, so I can fly away
|
| Translucent agendas and late night hotels
|
| Bedroom floors, oh, bedroom floors
|
| And toilet bowls my second home
|
| Translucent agendas and late night hotels
|
| Bedroom floors, oh, bedroom floors
|
| And toilet bowls my second home
|
| Yeah, uh |