Subtle - Call to Dive lyrics

The lids on Streetlights peel back to reveal row upon row of bulging black bird eye All gorged out toward you like exotic zoo snakes heaped up on fibergla** rocks, fat with farmed rats coaxed down their throat below them in their brights, tilt finished arrows beached up on thin tin signs. and where its corrugated stem injects into cement there is a deep fried breastbone, popping hard half ate on a rich red curb (x4) All at once The next morning everything begins again Over a walk past a few balloons tied to a lovesick car-salesman's wrist. You press on A soft bicycle wheel chained up behind a savage looking pair of women's dress shoes, abandoned to the left of a tire tread pressed dead pigeon lain askew in more rich rose colored gutter There there Temperature taking your skin Tinged city wind catching air on your pleasantly imperfect and c-section shaped skull For once forget your headed to the mailbox to drop more finished bills down to its gut Even though for all you know that's about as far as those things ever go (x2) As sad as it is so, (x2) Kids today will never wear the perfect cape of clean air Nor one true brand new brazier of sheer luck or does someone out there, does someone out there still expect that the way a moth gives freely of itself unto the bulb they will not learn their lesson from a teachers copy of a blackened lung, hung in the cla**room, on the coat rack Or left dripping in the closet during math minutes pa**ing nor from a nice new globe made of gold, cast in the shape of a half eaten apple Not until The sun is on a stick The moon hung on a hook (x2) Desperate times call for step by step schematics of the human dive (x6) Fool. Not Gum up bubble flavored up sitting on a more popular mechanics of a fifty foot flesh. Not Watch a thieving wallet going over the counter of botox. With your arms a great cops. Not Not god. Not done. So booking the atomic clock. Not sea loud to clear. Over a dozen boxed cars. Keys to the city You're rap rock. Not blood. Not gold bonded. Not You serious precarious, but with no snots And a sunset interjects Donating the kind of red you'd only see in stores Affording yourself a bit more clarity, some singular mood polarity And if you could, you'd have a close friend drive you off into the sinking pinks