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Spots On The Analog Sunset
Let me tell you about this place that I used to own
We called it Last Gate of the Apocalypse
Now come on and watch it burn
If the sky's a dumpster for flying guitars
Whose burning strings wraparound the stars
Then you can find us by looking in the phone book under 'bad luck'
Call 411 and say “Bad luck!”
Say, “I Got a mansion made of bones and the pool out back is bad luck boiling in the heat of the analog sun.”
I heard it on the radio
Yeah tell me what you heard
I heard it on the radio
There's a twisted feeling tearing through the lining of my stomach
I heard it on the radio
Tell me all about it
I heard it on the radio
I want to spill my guts on the ocean floor
I once had a sister and together we wandered empty halls
She held my hand as we etched our names into barren walls
I once had a sister but now she's gone
I once had a sister – she wore floral dresses and sang like a Sunday morning mockingbird
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We built a palace of pulpy flesh and I nap under the skin canopy
Now won't you take this bony hand in holy bloodshot matrimony?
Or we could take an ax to the rafters and a crowbar to the window frames
Can't you hear the ghosts in these walls they're shouting our names?
Or all it would take is one little match and we can sit outside sipping drinks in the shade
Watching everything we built go up in flames
Well now the floorboards scream and we can watch it all coming down
There's a phantom party raging inside of my skull
But it never makes a sound.
All I hear are freight trains rumbling
And airplanes buzzing
And smokestacks crumbling.
And smokestacks crumbling.
Why can't I ever find you when I'm looking for you?
Why can't the shine in your eyes be more than the glare of a screen?
All I want is for you to be someone more than a face gently smiling in the back of my mind
Just carve into my face with the putrid stench of time.
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