There's a dead man hanging, slumped over the steering wheel Of an interstate runaway bursting into flames And the devil was gently breathing Sleeping face-down in my apartment And like all his friends I'm growing tired of his games
And there's a homeless man arranging his hands Grooving to the beat radiating from a police scanner Who said, "The air is feeling good to me, as cool and ripe as air can be" And a woman who sincerely believes in UFOs And who can blame her when the stars are hanging overhead Dangling by a thread Floating ten thousand feet off the ground
(This was a story told to me when I was just the age of 17 One which God Himself dictated to me He said, "This is how all this shit's gonna be when I blow your little planet into smithereens Blow your little planet into smithereens" It haunted my dreams like an accident on replay on the TV screen)
She sees faces in her dreams, strange machines she'd never seen Blueprints of submarines to reassemble in a time of dire need And there were preachers in the desert, waving to the crowd Dictating seven angry letters from a man up in the clouds
And there were 27 soldiers telling 27 lies And a hole inside a hurricane with a pair of beady eyes A pair of beady eyes Looking down Onto the pavement while the stars are gathered 'round Because they all want a front seat when shit starts going down Because the sun is just a supernova turned the other way around
There were strangers in the subway And men in limousines making deals And swapping photographs of cans of gasoline There are no angels in the woodwork or devils on the ground And they are looking through a hurricane's tectonic wall of sound And a man who smokes his cigarettes the other way around And she is looking in behind him from inside a wall of sound And she is dancing with the neon because The air is feeling good against her arms and legs and fingertips are measuring the distance In the spaces in between me and you and all your friends when there's no time to load a weapon No time to make amends, And people frozen in their tracks there staring at the sky at a hole inside a hurricane revealing
A pair of beady eyes A pair of beady eyes Looking down Onto the pavement while the stars are gathered 'round Because they all want a front seat when shit starts going down Because the sun is just a supernova turned the other way around
This is not a test, this is the real thing This is not a test, this is the real thingTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
