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The tourists were so satisfied.
They took off their masks in salt water.
The forest flinched.
The mountains sighed
To make our eyes see softer.
You have stories, I need lies.
We need props for these religions.
WeÂll keep them running keep their time.
These windows are not doors to leave from.
And they all ask me what we were,
With baited lakeshores, homemade girth.
They all ask me what we were.
And the roofs they are moving to the basement floor.
And we can keep our heads living
Where we donÂt live anymore.
And the nightbirds they swoon and want country club lust.
We can try, it will try to
Be what they want.
We are all waiting, weÂre not walking.
Roaming through nights and weÂre not talking.
We are all waiting, weÂre not walking.
Roaming through nights and weÂre not talking.