|
Up on the bluff, where |
|
I wish I was |
|
Twistin' up the pages of history |
|
My cold feet danglin', my bony arms gesturin' |
|
To summon up little chunk of that history |
|
In the corridor the shadows are long |
|
And it messes with my equilibrium |
|
And there's strains of a strange language |
|
Up on the bluff, where the hardwood's jut |
|
Out toward the gusts of history |
|
My crusty mind cracks, my restless heart tracks |
|
The fractal lines of history |
|
In the corridor the shadows are long |
|
And it messes with my equilibrium |
|
And there's strains of a strange language |
|
In the corridor the shadows are long |
|
And it messes with my equilibrium |
|
And there's strains of a strange language |
|
Up on the bluff, where |
|
I wish I was |
|
Twistin' up the pages of history |
|
My cold feet danglin', my bony arms gesturin' |
