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Choke
I've never owned a camera and the pictures in my mind
Are instantly forgotten in the haste of passing time
Put away your Penguin Freud and hide your crystal ball
If you find me out, please let me know, I'd love to get the call
We drift on the surface and die in the depths
As the skipping stone sinks to its grave
Charades, charades, charades
Summer Sunday driving on a Tuesday afternoon
I remember days that seemed to never end too soon
But ice melts and flashes fade, cheap thrills will make you ache
For the time before nimiety made moments lose their weight
We drift on the surface and die in the depths
For the danger of symbols is grave
Charades, charades, charades
A dream of form
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In days of thought
I sought to remain
But weary eyes
Make heavy hearts
That long to be chained
I think it was the record, but it sounded like the house
If the music weren't so loud you'd probably hear my crying out
Like two gut string guitars tuned a half a step apart
You can't tell me what you need and so I give you what I want
We drift on the surface and die in the depths
Every skipping stone sinks to its grave
Charades, charades, charades
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