Texty: Owen Pallett. Lewis Takes Off His Shirt.

As soon as I got on the horse I forgot about the map
Forgot about the odds against an adolescent standing up to all of Owen's wrath
The heat of prairie summer is impossible to take
I grab the hem and lift the fabric over my sweet head
I know what you're looking for and

I'm never going to give it to you (x6)


Government rule established by a dazzling light show
A hegemony armored with a thousand-watt head and seven inches of echo
I'm keeping my velocity, my spurs are in her sides
I don't know what I'm doing, and it is the only way
Toward the range I'll ride
Singing:

I'm never going to give it to you (x6)

"I am overrated," said the sculptress to the sea,
"I've been praised for all the ways the marble leaves the man
And I was wrong to try and free him"
But for me, I am a vector
I am muscle, I am bone
The sun upon my shoulders and the horse between my legs
This all I know
My senses are bedazzled by the parallax of the road
I concentrate to keep contained the overflow
My knuckles grip so tightly
My fingers start to bleed
If what I have is what you need,

I'm never going to give it to you (x12)