The grave diggers getting stuck in the machine
Picking getting slim, slimmer
I hear them say my name
Regin-ah, regin-ah, regin-a-ah
yes I'm putting the boulder to my ear
And I still can't hear
Whadya think I was an amateur
Playin' with my temperature
If I hear another song about angels
If I see another feather on the dumb-box
I'm gonna go to Babylon and get me some whiskey
Gonna go to Babylon and get me some whiskey now
If I hear another song about angels
If I see another feather on the dumb-box
I'm gonna go to Babylon and get me some whiskey
Oh get me some whiskey, get me some whisky, get me some whiskey now
My name is Lucille and I know how you feel
I live downstairs
I hear you taking out your garbage
I hear you loving your girlfriend
I hear you loving yourself too
I hear you flushing your toilet
I hear you turning your thoughts off
I turn mine off too
The only thing I hear is you
And you don't sound nice and you don't sound right
And you don't sound good and you don't sound right
My name is Lucille and I know how you feel
I live downstairs
I hear you taking out your garbage
I hear you loving your girlfriend
I hear you loving yourself too
I hear you turning your thoughts off
Oh, I hear you turning your thoughts off
And it get's quiet
Pavlov's daughter woke up in the morning
Heard the bell ring
And something deep inside of her made her want to salivate
So she lay there drooling on her pillow
So she lay there, the sun skimming her skin,
And, and, drooling on her pillow
Pavlov's daughter
And it was far away and hazy like a dream
Not a dream, not a dream,
But the ocean, not the ocean,
But forever
The grave diggers getting stuck in the machine
Picking getting slim, slimmer
I hear them say my name
Regin-ah, regin-ah, regin-a-ah
yes I'm putting the boulder to my ear
And I still can't hear
Whadya think I was an amateur
Playin' with my temperature...
If I hear another song about angels
If I see another feather on the dumb-box
I'm gonna go to Babylon and get me some whiskey
Gonna go to Babylon and get me some whiskey now
If I hear another song about angels
If I see another feather on the dumb-box
I'm gonna go to Babylon and get me some whiskey
Oh get me some whiskey, get me some whiskey, get me some whiskey now
My name is Lucille and I know how you feel
I live downstairs
I hear you taking out your garbage
I hear you loving your girlfriend
I hear you loving yourself too
I hear you turning your thoughts off
I hear you turning your thoughts off
And I turn mine off too
The only thing I hear is you
And you don't sound nice and you don't sound right
And you don't sound good and you don't sound right
My name is Lucille and I know how you feel
I live downstairs
I hear you taking out your garbage
I hear you loving your girlfriend
I hear you loving yourself too
I hear you turning your thoughts off
I hear you turning your thoughts off
It get's quiet
As quiet as an ambulance checking out the neighborhood,
Waiting for the blade to slip and that final blow,
But nothing happens, it's a cruel joke
As ironic as a ticker tape parade over the rain forest,
As ironic as a ticker tape parade over my head,
As ironic as a ticker tape parade over my head
Going down stream
To where, it isn't, even, real, rain, at, all
Picking getting slim, slimmer
I hear them say my name
Regin-ah, regin-ah, regin-a-ah
yes I'm putting the boulder to my ear
And I still can't hear
Whadya think I was an amateur
Playin' with my temperature
If I hear another song about angels
If I see another feather on the dumb-box
I'm gonna go to Babylon and get me some whiskey
Gonna go to Babylon and get me some whiskey now
If I hear another song about angels
If I see another feather on the dumb-box
I'm gonna go to Babylon and get me some whiskey
Oh get me some whiskey, get me some whisky, get me some whiskey now
My name is Lucille and I know how you feel
I live downstairs
I hear you taking out your garbage
I hear you loving your girlfriend
I hear you loving yourself too
I hear you flushing your toilet
I hear you turning your thoughts off
I turn mine off too
The only thing I hear is you
And you don't sound nice and you don't sound right
And you don't sound good and you don't sound right
My name is Lucille and I know how you feel
I live downstairs
I hear you taking out your garbage
I hear you loving your girlfriend
I hear you loving yourself too
I hear you turning your thoughts off
Oh, I hear you turning your thoughts off
And it get's quiet
Pavlov's daughter woke up in the morning
Heard the bell ring
And something deep inside of her made her want to salivate
So she lay there drooling on her pillow
So she lay there, the sun skimming her skin,
And, and, drooling on her pillow
Pavlov's daughter
And it was far away and hazy like a dream
Not a dream, not a dream,
But the ocean, not the ocean,
But forever
The grave diggers getting stuck in the machine
Picking getting slim, slimmer
I hear them say my name
Regin-ah, regin-ah, regin-a-ah
yes I'm putting the boulder to my ear
And I still can't hear
Whadya think I was an amateur
Playin' with my temperature...
If I hear another song about angels
If I see another feather on the dumb-box
I'm gonna go to Babylon and get me some whiskey
Gonna go to Babylon and get me some whiskey now
If I hear another song about angels
If I see another feather on the dumb-box
I'm gonna go to Babylon and get me some whiskey
Oh get me some whiskey, get me some whiskey, get me some whiskey now
My name is Lucille and I know how you feel
I live downstairs
I hear you taking out your garbage
I hear you loving your girlfriend
I hear you loving yourself too
I hear you turning your thoughts off
I hear you turning your thoughts off
And I turn mine off too
The only thing I hear is you
And you don't sound nice and you don't sound right
And you don't sound good and you don't sound right
My name is Lucille and I know how you feel
I live downstairs
I hear you taking out your garbage
I hear you loving your girlfriend
I hear you loving yourself too
I hear you turning your thoughts off
I hear you turning your thoughts off
It get's quiet
As quiet as an ambulance checking out the neighborhood,
Waiting for the blade to slip and that final blow,
But nothing happens, it's a cruel joke
As ironic as a ticker tape parade over the rain forest,
As ironic as a ticker tape parade over my head,
As ironic as a ticker tape parade over my head
Going down stream
To where, it isn't, even, real, rain, at, all