The Reactor's down. I guess for Labour Day. Today is the first day I ain't seen the great plume of steam. From across the lake. From across the lake. Hey, that's a morning moon, yeah.
I've been interpreted and shrunk. I've been as touchless as a drunk. This is as bad as or worse, as bad as or worse. This is as bad as or worse, as bad as or worse.
He said, "fuck this" and, "fuck that". And this guy's the diplomat. Stares into the blur of the tuner lights. It can't be Nashville every night. . He said, "We are what we lack".
Your smile is fading a bit. So I ration it. Don't think about it. Here where the Mississippi quits. Where it's still got a bit. Of Minnesota in it. . No one will give you a thing these days.
I don't want to look for words. I don't want to work that hard. I want your song in my head. The way you sing it from the heart, yeah. . Whenever I get lost.
Here's a glue guy, a performance god. A makeshift shrine, or newly lain sod. Hardly even trying, gives the nod. . I sure hope I'm not the type to dwell.
Sometimes when I'm walking. I dream I'm being taken for granted. It's then that I clearly imagine. The day that you take me for granted. . You said, one day you're going to realise.
Does it diminish your super capacity to love?. Does it diminish your super capacity to love?. . Walk like a matador, don't be chicken shit. And turn breezes into rivulets.
You're older, you're haunted, you're ahead of your time. In corners of acres of blocks of straight lines. Blurringly, hourly we cross some great divides.
Sled dogs after dinner. close their eyes on. the howlin' wastes. Kurt Cobain, reincarnated,. sighs and licks his face. then they drift past strips. of Serengeti and the gates.
Country day. A day in the unknown. A gentle breeze gently blowing. Country day. Country day. Another day in the unknown. I can feel it in my bones. Country day.
There's a cannon shooting coconut cream. Forty gallons in a steady stream. There's a cannon shooting coconut cream. Forty gallons in a steady stream. Dream, stream, dream.
It's hard to leave your bed. The cool and hard summer sheets. Hangover hanging on by the fangs. Walk to work on wild feet. Get to the back door. Look around and turn the key.
As I wind down the pines. It's the lines on your face. Playing on your face. . Without thinking so much. As abandoning thought. I went through open country.