All of this time on my hands So far has gone to feeding my animals
Behind this gold picket fence lies a whole institute Where wallpaper painters scrape and scarecrows swell waterlogged I've got dead time on my hands For feeding my animals
All of this time on my hands So far has gone to feeding my animals
On this dark kissed day the light shines through only you Or is it because your silhouette is your frame like an empty window? I've got cold time up my sleeve, Now I'm feeling destitute
All of this time on my hands So far has gone to feeding my animals
All of this time on my hands So far has gone to feeding my animals All of that time I was dead Limbless in bed, sedated experiment
na, na, na, na
I feel root vegetable! Am I dead? Or buried alive? I sleep warm velvet wand by the night, I'm selling the sun My skin feels silky smooth now I'm buried in mud
Compositores: Daniel Paul Johns, Paul Francis Mcdermott (Paul Mac) ECAD: Obra #1315856