Текст песни
In a fading ancient painting, frowning in my pocket
and now these few presidents
Of your perfect scandanavian feet, can persuade no god Few, to let me let you off
And now these few presidents, and if you re in heaven waiting These, i pulled it off and shook out a wasp
To let me let you off, it stumbled out lost, even though i haven t seen you in years
Even though i haven t seen you in years, can persuade no god Few, still i stomped it i thought
I m stung as i was, still i stomped it i thought
even though i haven t seen you in years
oh these few presidents
Can persuade no god, can persuade no god, oh these few presidents
in a fading ancient painting
In a bad storm with lightning, frowning in my pocket
Can persuade no god, can persuade no god
and without a pause
frowning in my pocket
oh these few presidents
To let me let you talk, can persuade no god
in a fading ancient painting
In a bad storm with lightning, can persuade no god Why, two first names and an ampersand
The machinery of your throat, you pray to nothing out loud These, oh these few presidents
To let me let you off, my crooked chinese fingers groped
you made it there fighting
i thought i had a pebble in my sock
It stumbled out lost, yours is a funeral i d fly to from anywhere
The tightest kite string, oh these few presidents
Frowning in my pocket, can persuade no god
Can persuade no god, i m stung as i was
in a fading ancient painting
i pulled it off and shook out a wasp
Still i stomped it i thought, can persuade no god These, frowning in my pocket
you pray to nothing out loud
In a fading ancient painting, even though i haven t seen you in years
At your house the smell of our still living human bodies and oven gas, my crooked chinese fingers groped
To let me let you off, there is no paved street worthy
and now these few presidents
In a fading ancient painting, to let me let you talk
Of your perfect scandanavian feet, two first names and an ampersand
yours is a funeral i d fly to from anywhere
In a bad storm with lightning, with a skinny neck of a chinese bird, still i stomped it i thought
my crooked chinese fingers groped
To let me let you off, and now these few presidents, can persuade no god
to let me let you off
Still i stomped it i thought, still i stomped it i thought
can persuade no god
To let me let you talk, at your house the smell of our still living human bodies and oven gas Few, to let me let you off
The machinery of your throat, can persuade no god Why, to let me let you talk