What’s the matter? Who cares?
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People running everywhere,
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Running like decapitated chickens in the rain.
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Never mind the poultry, I’d rather stay at home
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I hope that my old lady’s feeling like a lazy Jane
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No one really thinks I’m funny,
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Not the way that she does
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She is stranger more than fiction,
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Dictionary definition.
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Why don’t we go take a drive and why don’t we take your car?
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Mine is nearly out of gas and nearly broken down.
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Lighter flame and cheap Bordeaux
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And incense wafting in the air
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Steal a kiss and listen to the sound of falling rain
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Never mind your diet,
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I’d rather stuff our guts
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Making funny faces on the windowpane
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We run, we run, we run
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And we’re happy inside of this place
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The walls are half the fun
|
‘Cause anarchy stays in its space
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Huddled in the pilot’s seat our tanks are filled with Thimbledrome.
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We check the dash and turn the motor on.
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Never mind the man in orange;
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We know our own way home.
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We crush him flat and shoot into the sky.
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There’s a baby on its way because of what we do so much,
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Shooting like a comet from the other end of space.
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Someday (I don’t know which one)
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A pair of little feet will come
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Creeping like a monkey with a creepy little face
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And I will spank that monkey, spank that monkey,
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Spank that monkey if it gets out of line.
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And I will spank that monkey, spank that monkey,
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And he’ll thank me someday when I’m seventy-nine.
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We run, we run, we run
|
And we’re happy inside of this place.
|
The walls are half the fun
|
‘Cause anarchy stays in its space.
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Allow me to extend to you a special invitation to
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Watch the wrinkles form upon my face as I grow old.
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Christmastime and Halloween and all the days that lie between
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Hand in hand we’ll watch as all the years unfold.
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-----------------
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Thimbledrome
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| Pain (American Band) |
