Frog Eyes - Bells In The Crooked Port
What's this hell? What's this pen? Put me in the hole with the rest of the men? Who you going to call at the station? "I need matrimony" said the captain to his pony: listening for motors (from the ditch then)... oh water in the town water in the sound - water takes the valleys and it puts them in the ground: oh no not again!
Water by the trees water in the station (wherein the identification documents float from room to room): water from (and was birthed in) the birdland closed conservation. (said the shepherd) What's this hell? The earth does bend? Drown with the hunted and the hunter in his pen: la la I knew this man at the station (before the trucks disappeared) I need matrimony said the Cossack to his pony la la: listening for motors oh.. to party on the ground to puke on the ground to call your former mystic and you tell him he is found: not again!
You were born last and forced to breathe (but not to) drown with the hunter in the coarse brown sleeve: not again! Oh running from the polis you were passing in the forest and condition myself to believe in operating forests: you better think about woodcutters and the burning of the station la la I hear the motors and I hear the matrons and I hear the (groaning of) the Polis with the blessed birdland patron (a sort of Patroclus of the ages) I know myself I know myself I was cut from evil fabric but my nurse knows better health: you better think about woodcutters and lights on: lights on!
Water by the trees water in the station (wherein the identification documents float from room to room): water from (and was birthed in) the birdland closed conservation. (said the shepherd) What's this hell? The earth does bend? Drown with the hunted and the hunter in his pen: la la I knew this man at the station (before the trucks disappeared) I need matrimony said the Cossack to his pony la la: listening for motors oh.. to party on the ground to puke on the ground to call your former mystic and you tell him he is found: not again!
You were born last and forced to breathe (but not to) drown with the hunter in the coarse brown sleeve: not again! Oh running from the polis you were passing in the forest and condition myself to believe in operating forests: you better think about woodcutters and the burning of the station la la I hear the motors and I hear the matrons and I hear the (groaning of) the Polis with the blessed birdland patron (a sort of Patroclus of the ages) I know myself I know myself I was cut from evil fabric but my nurse knows better health: you better think about woodcutters and lights on: lights on!
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