Texty:
Mgmt

You were a child, crawlin' on your knees toward it. Makin' mama so proud, but your voice was too loud. We like to watch you laughing. You pick the insects

So tired, soul searching I followed the sounds to a cathedral Imagine my surprise to find that They were produce by Brian Eno Past the gates, quite stark

Here, you focus So I can see your faces The eyes are wrong How will I know if it's working right? Light confuses The tiny isles of bruises The mangled

Hey, I found a whistle that hangs like a charm And when my noose is tied I could blow it and fall down into your arms Fifteen centuries of dissolution

Sleep as the goer The bridge that watches the light-speed through And cries while the spirit stumbles The inside missile for the protection of you Maybe

I'm feeling rough, I'm feeling raw, I'm in the prime of my life. Let's make some music, make some money, find some models for wives. I'll move to Paris

I feel your racing heart. My liquid, silver arms extended. These waves aren't far apart. Black gold in clawfoot tarps, unchanging. I am fire; where's

When the world has turned Paralyzed and wrong Cold-blooded claws never offer Anything at all Past the point of love Shattered and untied Waiting to pick

Why'd you cut holes in the face of the moon base? Don't you know about the temperature change In the cold black shadow? Are you mad at your walls Or hoping