A pair of binoculars, a spyglass
And the juice in my brain
My only luggage on the train of life
My binoculars are powerful
He looks quite far
But sometimes there are clouds that block my vision
The black under my fingernails
Tells the whole weekend's story
My binoculars look and look
But the lens gets dirty too soon< br/>I seek my hazy future to trade it for another
But my viewer is getting weaker
As my train steams on
And the lenses only look back into the compartment of my dream
And the black under my fingernails
Becomes my binoculars' sad story
The black under my fingernails
Tells the whole weekend's story
I just look back at the eye in the mirror
Which stares guilelessly at my screaming soul
And I see an uncertain face that looks more like an animal's
In the thirty watt light
The black under my fingernails
Tell the whole weekend's story

SUBMIT CORRECTIONS