Let the camera pull back 'Till the fullness of the frame is clear and plain Peer into the screen until you see it all Like a vision in a crystal ball
Let it all fill with smoke Is this somebody's idea of a joke? Let the fixer work until the silver's washed away and take a picture from the tray Look hard at what you see and then remember you and me
And let the truth spring free Like a jack-in-the-box, like a hundred thousand cuckoo clocks From the Oregon corners to the Iowa corn To the rooms with the heat lamps where the snakes get born
Crawl through the tunnel and follow, follow the light northwest See that young man who dwells inside his body like an uninvited guest See the tunnel twist, clutch your birthright in your fist Let the camera do its dirty work down there in the dark
Sink low, rise high, bring back some blurry pictures to remember all your darker moments by Permanent bruises on our knees never forget what it felt like to live in rooms like these From the California coastline to the Iowa corn To the rooms with the heat lamps where the snakes get bornTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
