Sweet talking men never tell the truth, don’t ever shake their hands unless you’re keeping proof. Dogs don’t ever bite, unless they learn to die or unless they smell your fear. It makes them really mad. So they snap one at your face, try to get you really good, try to make it so you never want to come around again. The wheels spinning and I’m picking up the road, taking it somewhere else, there’s someone else to know. This place I really like-- it’s quiet when its loud it’s filled with petty thieves and a late night bar crowd. I’ve got these great big lungs there, so I can talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and talk…
Sleepwalker, who shakes you out of bed at night? Where are these ghosts? Who’s out to get you?
Jesus made of gold, you’re taking all your pills, wearing all your make up and paying all your bills. Submissive position: staring at the floor, you can take it all but you want even more. So masochistic chewing on my nails try and make it so I never want to come around again. I am ungrateful and I am worn out I am every problem and every single doubt. Dry and cracked, floating in the wind to settle on the earth to get picked back up again. This place I really like--its slow when its fast, talking to the paisleys in the wall paper. (will you tell me something that I want to know) sleepwalker who shakes you out of bed at night, where are these ghosts? Who’s out to get you? Sleepwalker who shakes you out of bed at night, where are these ghosts? Who’s out to get you? Smooth skin on a soft skeleton, you’re paper thin and highly flammable (also highly flammable…)
I'm talking to the paisleys in the wall paper again...


Lyrics submitted by Hot Summer

Sleepwalker, shit-talker song meanings
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