Heaven is a truck it got stuck on the breeze. Asked the driver nicely, "I need a lift, I need release". The sand in the boats on the rose-covered floats.
Harness your hopes. Harness your hopes. On just one person. Because you know a harness. Was only made for one. . Don't telegraph your passes. You'll end up with molasses.
Run, run to the east confession trash. We dont need your thrills or your call-book cash. Let just, natures got plans to keep you up there. . Swamps, fiddles that whine, about the Mayor.
Ah, shit, baby, canyon bro', your life is worked in. Dream about the witch trials. You get all too lot of pepper in your forecast. Beneath the shady mezzanine keep it when you want to belong.