Johnson At the threshold, of the day I complained of the records you played Unforgivable were the sounds Of the sh** that you blared from the house CHORUS And I guess I was just shaken by the rage Hard fisted, pissed, tired and feathered Freshly escapen from the cage And I suppose you were just searching for something to say You were smelling medicinal, juggling the daggers That I tried to hide away Along with the sultry pictures That never once met my unholy demands The slings and hammers that you've collected The poisionous arrows and happiness found in an axe CHORUS The sweet, tranquil end of the day Was sodden with liquor, in conditional anger we lie Under fluorescent stars stuck to the ceiling Your custom made universe, as we take to the sky CHORUS