• We take sour sips
    From life's lush lips.
    Stop by this disaster town
    You'll put your eyes to the sun and say "I know." You're only blinded to keep back what the clouds are hiding. And we might have started singing just a little soon. We're throwing stones in a glass room.
    It was ice cream headaches and sweet avalanche
    When the pearls in our shells came out to dance
    You call me a bad tipper of the cradle
    But Im tired yawns for fawns on hunters lawns
    Were the has-beens of husbands
    Sharpening the knives of young wives
    Take two years and call me when you're better
    Take teardrops of mine, find yourself wetter