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I haunted a basketmaker's shop |
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Spending days ripping pictures from magazines |
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Taping them to the walls of my prison |
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I remember walking by the sand |
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Each knob represented a different frequency range |
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And I remember holding the hand of the skeleton prince |
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And he swept me into his arms |
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And he, he had tremolo deep |
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In the back of his black eye sockets |
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And he said, "Do you want to come away with me |
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Into the pitch black pool?" |
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And I said, "I don't know, I don't know, I don't know..." |
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Photocopied, the wind ripped through the trees |
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And all the stained-glass windows rattled |
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I haunted a basketmaker's shop in 1927 |
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And on the beach in the summer |
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There were thunderstorms constantly |
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And they were unpredictable, nobody knew when they |
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Would come and nobody knew how long they'd last |
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Sometimes they'd only last five minutes and sometimes, weeks |
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I haunted a basketmaker's shop |
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Because I had nowhere to go one long weekend |
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Stained-glass windows turning off and on |
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And the tremolo in the back dark corners |
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Cobwebs stripped, mildewed |
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I remember acoustic guitars and bells, I remember the cathedral |
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I remember cassettes, cathedral |
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I remember cassette, cathedral |
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I remember cassette, cathedral |
