and my head is a beatbox
too irregular to be a tick tock clock
baby, this boat don't rock
if you want out I won't stop
you'll have to jump, belly flop
I've got no time to gather moss
or seaweed or anything
no time to walk around in your whisky dreams
no time to push you in your mind's tire swings
I, I, I, I'm leaving
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment