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Is Subjective Lyrics
to give a slow
sorrowful reading
a few brass coins
clutched in my bony fists
gathered together
in one room
for the first time
born three years ahead of time
nineteen seventy-nine
throwing shoes at passing cars
fitting initiation
attacked your books with a knife
convincing me you have
nothing to say
the smell of your own work
is the smell of death
sorrowful reading
a few brass coins
clutched in my bony fists
gathered together
in one room
for the first time
born three years ahead of time
nineteen seventy-nine
throwing shoes at passing cars
fitting initiation
attacked your books with a knife
convincing me you have
nothing to say
the smell of your own work
is the smell of death
Song Info
Submitted by
omgwtfbrand0 On May 16, 2006
More The Birds Are Spies, They Report To The Trees
Get Away With Blasphemy
F.T.R.R.M.
Adam Smith International
Sack of Hammers
Middle Management
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beautiful song.