Lyrics

No wonder there's a party in the third

The wagon of the founder of the firm

While a hundred thousand horses and a mule

never been so eager to be groomed

Panic melts over my room

Sad and funny simultaneous how that waterlily stung me

As the jellyfish kept wondering

Like the butcher born and bred a priest

Never did I utter a cry for the here ever after

but that butterfly laughter

Is what I'll want to think about the least

Our oven resembles a turd

It's what they thought we'd earned

The saver-satin seating in the back

Is further from the end of the track

And takes us there the last

Sad and funny simultaneous how we use the same revolver

This isn't what I ordered

Your freakshow friends will faithfully help you feast

Never did I utter a cry for the here ever after

but that butterfly laughter

Is what I'll want to think about the least

Water's but a witness when they break the

mare

Porky's still a pig, pay the ticket fare

A big hunk of mutton was the lord's best lamb

A toy dog's

tooth will taste the flesh of man

From oven to oven
For graciousness sake
I've written as much as
Reading would take
Hours are heavy
when promises made weigh a ton
Hours you spent on care
to make sure I know you don't

A workday's worth of worn out
Isn't what you're supposed to be
It's firewater to a coldmouth man
like yours truly
Bow at the fine man's greed
Cause you never knew me

II
Coldmouth was born in
A town of filth and shame
Grew up to be so skinny
his head got smaller than his brain
His words never knew a when
His heart sure knew its where
some anti somethings broke his nose
when tilted the bucket on his head
walked up to them and said

Jeremiah Teague from Teague's antiques
set fire to the store as he headed for the door
For the owner, now former, of Teague's antiques
Is to be a better man than ever before

Tie up smokerings, get the clouds to line up
break the piggybank, go say 'porky your time's up'
Respect the soil til you become the ground
Dirt's what makes the dirt folk proud
It's all they know, the dirt folks

Bo didn't eat, a day became a week
A few pounds lighter and he just liked the feeling
He counts his grapes now as they number his days
It doesn't matter cause he's not a girl nor teenage

Feed to be fed, swallow your pride and then some
Make sense of why self control is handsome
Respect the soil til you become the ground
Dirt's what makes the dirt folk proud
It's all they know, the dirt folks

Heidi signed the paper to indulge in a sense of danger,
replace her husband with a younger stranger
But Bo brought boredom, til the day she last called him
'I miss her' were the last words Bo had spoken

Jeremiah fled, Heidi Teague forgotten
Never to be wed, his life alone is rotten
He respects the soil til he becomes the ground
Dirt's what makes the dirt folk proud
It's all they know, the dirt folks

Another day whistles by with not a care
So wet and wide, a begger's eyes, dissatisfied
And a tape recorder is my biggest fan
An earthly promise to the promised land

I'm fearing I will be
Sighting a pyramid
and thinking all I see
is just a yellow building
But I'm not keen on trying to sit and sing
Of how I'm not keen on changing how I think

A mortal mind, the tinted kind, requires rest
But seldom lines, the straightened kind, can weaken tides
To be soulful is to be what's closest to whole.
When I sink, so will my thoughts and my soul

I'm guessing it'll be
Wielding Excalibur
And deeming it to be
Handy when spreading butter
And I'm not keen on trying to sit and sing
Of how I'm not keen on changing how I think

I feel it over me, I feel it under me

A prophet of malaise
knocked on my door again last night
Nothing to hear of
But a sight to behold for knife-struck eyes
The drink I made for him I quite despise
But the soundtrack to my life became his whine

Set on them withering smithereens
Riding that terrible timing steed
He looks like where life leads
But the dreaded time-chameleon likes me

Licking the frosting
of a memory's the perfect weight loss plan
My only friend is hanging
By a thread that's so thin it cut my hand
It's time he picked on someone his own size
The name of my guest might be my demise

Set on them withering smithereens
See how I sodomize how I seem
I live a pipe-type dream
And the dreaded time-chameleon likes me

So we got to talking
You should hear the profound things my guest could say
The wit of Stephen Hawking
And he sins just twice a week but not today
Attentiveness just seems to be the key
Chameleon, give me your therapy

Set on them withering smithereens
Painting the murkiest landscapes green
He smokes the breath I need
Cause the dreaded time-chameleon likes me