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Small Pieces Lyrics

I'm an old man praying for rain in a dry month
And I pray for youth to come back and be crude
Is there no touch, no tingle, no terrible crutch
For me to lean, for me to rely on

What kind of man are you, holding on to that feeling?
What kind of man are you, holding on to that feeling?

We're big, we're better, we're dreaming clever

How deep is the pillow that catches our thoughts?
And will it be soft or will it remain true?
All our sick souls require is faith and desire
To feed our whims before our eyes grow dim

What kind of man are you, holding on to that feeling?
What kind of man are you, holding on to that feeling?

We're big, we're better, we're dreaming clever

What kind of man are you, holding on to that feeling?
What kind of man are you, holding on to that feeling?
What kind of man are you, holding on to that feeling?
What kind of man are you, holding on to that feeling?
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Cover art for Small Pieces lyrics by Zulu Winter

"This song came out of a jam. It's probably the most guitar heavy song on the record, although not in a traditional sense: Henry's drove that runs throughout the verses is almost unrecognisable as a guitar. Lyrically, it was one of the first songs to draw heavily from T.S. Eliot's 'The Wasteland', when then became quite a large presence in the lyrics. It deals with what it is to grow old and not have made peace with vicious aspect of a life lived, whether that be impending death, unsettled relationship or practical worries."

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