Untitled #12 Lyrics - John Frusciante

Blind your head in catastrophe icicles 

No-one's fed in cycles led by cycles dead 

Ask to shine the flag 

Love is distance and blue sits like apples bite 

And flows through our hands 

I said hi' to a man who shot his sister 

Panned through the station 

And jumped in front of a train 

Said I'm a bit confused to meet you 

Life's what scissors do to a day 

So their smiles pave the way 

Sand drips with waves 

And clouds my head 'cause I'm a fortune fellah's bed 

And I'm the tunes played by the goons 

Who ride in fairy's wombs 

And stole the road the other way 

And sold tomorrow to yesterday and 

I know the feeling of pushing you out of a building 

Tiny people pulsating hit the sky 

Still the ground got up and wiped your face 

You expected to fly, wind up your misfortune 

Sling em to a maitre-dee 

Who wears dead butterflies on his face 

And is hoping to grow wings 

He really wants to tell you 

hey give your tears to today' 

Grind yourself souvenirs under your stolen years 

Hands in your pockets 

Your hands getting numb been hurt in grinds jive 

Do the avenues that seem to meet defeat you 

Did you ever try to hug the sky behind your head 

I walked forever sightseeing a screen 

Shuffled a mean green ping 

Dives head first into a hole in the water 

Drives side to side like a floating machine 

Dove dancing to a fable told to a sea of disintegration 

Crawl to a celebration of dirt that leaves that taste of wine 

Sucked from a hair that digs into the darkness 

Full of the fair that my head rides. 

I slide your kind through a ladder 

Hanging on a star 

Stray close so far 

Away from the climb 

A tape like section of introspection 

To rewind would be to recline. 

Hit the pounds underlying gently 

Ride on the side 

Tell your problems to zero 

He's got nothing to hide.