He said, ?You stand in your own shoes? I said, ?I'd rather stand in someone else's? He said, ?You look from your direction? I said, ?I like to keep perspective
This line is burning, turning to ash as it hits the air Every step is a day in the week It's a Sunday or Monday A march over months of the year This
50-50 chance The doctor said In the cardiac room As she's lying in bed There's a pan on the floor Filled with something black I need to know I'm afraid
how it is When something is gone A piece of your eyesight Or maybe your vision A corner of sense Goes blank on the screen A piece of the scan Gets filled in by hand
Those whole girls Hurl down words Run in packs With bloom to spare They know health Know it well Skim the cream And fill the brim Drip with news Spin
Institution Green The walls are cracked and dim And we are standin' in a line Waitin' for our faces to be seen Institution Green Watch the floor and
Now the time has come to speak I was not able And water through a rusted pipe Could make the sense that I do Gurgle and mutter Hiss, stutter Moan the
Let's tell the future Let's see how it's been done By numbers, by mirrors, by water By dots made at random on paper By salt, by dice, by meal, by mice
Somewhere in a room With a poster on a wall Of a man with his hand In a fist Is a woman who's drinking And her dress is so tight You can see every breath
He said you stand in your own shoes I said I'd rather stand in someone else's He said you look from your direction I said I like to keep perspective
Institution green The walls are cracked and dim And we are standing in a line Waiting for our faces to be seen Institution green Watch the floor and
know how it is When something is gone A piece of your eyesight Or maybe your vision A corner of sense Goes blank on the screen A piece of the scan Gets filled in by hand
This line is burning Turning to ash as it hits the air Every step is a day in the week It's a Sunday or Monday A march over months of the year This
Let's tell the future Let's see how it's been done. By numbers. By mirrors. By water. By dots made at random on paper. By salt. By dice. By meal. By
hole that ripped in living In my book of dreams X3 The spine is bound to last a life Tough enough to take the pounding Pages made of days of open hand
Now the time has come to speak I was not able And water through a rusted pipe Could make the sense that I do Gurgle, mutter Hiss, stutter Moan the words
