Ships out on the harbor
Wet Painting in the sky
The rain falls down
And the paint begins to cry
Darkness is upon us
The lightning wants to talk
Listen to the voices
That the sparks will all unlock
Ecstasy shoots arrows down upon the ear
A zenith from the skyline for everyone to hear
Wailing shouts and screams
Expressing joys and fears
Sometimes dark and gloomy
And written down with tears
With a flower of blood that rises
In a hypodermic needle
Only to relax oneself
After an abundance of creative zeal
Now listen!
I've got a secret so listen closely; let your ears feel the mood I'm in
Your flesh is a screen that projects a myth that is erupting right now
from underneath your skin
I look up into the dark night sky at the face of a lonely woman 10,000 feet high.
Auburn hair and red lips litby Revlon. Hello my lovely one.
Out in the starry starry sky a pair of eyes are about to cry
Please don't think about tomorrow for it will only lead to sorrow
And with so many stars in the sky, how do you know that one
doesn't already have your name on it darlin'?
Excuse me while I kiss your entire body all over your gorgeous red lipstick rose.
I'd much rather do that than see you all dressed up in maudlin b***ons and bows.
And with the taste of love in your mouth as you're kissing something solid,
When your imagination tells you that it tastes a lot more like soft black olives.
On some opaque dark mass, this womans soul is revealed on the face
and features drawn on her radiantly golden brass.
Brass! These are all ecstatic revelations that are converted
from the energy that speeds up dissipation.
So don't think about tomorrow
It will only lead to sorrow
Broken lips float on the sky
You won't find that bizarre
when you spell the word 'surreal' with a capital R.
So how do you like this?
How do you like that?
How would you like that if
I put that over........
Hear the sounds of an ancient society.
Modern civilization compared is much more wicked
Its giant steel cantilever arches standing tall,
above the crushed, uneven rubble dangling
in the midst of a swinging, wrecking ball.
And a suspended machine emblazoned with
a cross of human bones held firm
Its oppression is relinquished when it represents
the sincerity of a newly digging worm.
These are all eternal examinations meant
for the ambassadors of telepathic communications.
And then the sky rose it's facial curtain and the sound of ideas peeled out and
transformed into s***e and the air shot through into a complete works of dripping architectural fireworks displays.
Bang! A series of flying silver pinwheels draping themselves over
an iridescent green backdrop that crackles as they drop and flee into fabulous antiquity.
Bang! Descending bits of burning vinyl form the shape of a fiery carousel of light that drifts out of the dark sky falling quickly as it brilliantly burns the star-studded eyes out of your face.
No, not really.
Bang! A giant gold fountain (pleasure under difficulties) glittering X-ray
piano sprinkles that tell let slip leak pour forth spill down and fall hysterically.
We all have different opinions about the way things R, don't we?
Different opinions appear, yet so often values flee; when our judgments
reach out for a thick state, our differences flee into infinity.
Those divisions may emerge but let's don't divide love and death (it's so cold).
Lets change it, I know, I'll quote the final scene from Tristan and Isolde:
"Let's both drown ourselves in the world's resonating whirlwind, and as we're disintegrating
into pure sounds that go unheard by mortal ears we'll sink and drink the kiss of the overwhelming rapture of death. The end."
Wet Painting in the sky
The rain falls down
And the paint begins to cry
Darkness is upon us
The lightning wants to talk
Listen to the voices
That the sparks will all unlock
Ecstasy shoots arrows down upon the ear
A zenith from the skyline for everyone to hear
Wailing shouts and screams
Expressing joys and fears
Sometimes dark and gloomy
And written down with tears
With a flower of blood that rises
In a hypodermic needle
Only to relax oneself
After an abundance of creative zeal
Now listen!
I've got a secret so listen closely; let your ears feel the mood I'm in
Your flesh is a screen that projects a myth that is erupting right now
from underneath your skin
I look up into the dark night sky at the face of a lonely woman 10,000 feet high.
Auburn hair and red lips litby Revlon. Hello my lovely one.
Out in the starry starry sky a pair of eyes are about to cry
Please don't think about tomorrow for it will only lead to sorrow
And with so many stars in the sky, how do you know that one
doesn't already have your name on it darlin'?
Excuse me while I kiss your entire body all over your gorgeous red lipstick rose.
I'd much rather do that than see you all dressed up in maudlin b***ons and bows.
And with the taste of love in your mouth as you're kissing something solid,
When your imagination tells you that it tastes a lot more like soft black olives.
On some opaque dark mass, this womans soul is revealed on the face
and features drawn on her radiantly golden brass.
Brass! These are all ecstatic revelations that are converted
from the energy that speeds up dissipation.
So don't think about tomorrow
It will only lead to sorrow
Broken lips float on the sky
You won't find that bizarre
when you spell the word 'surreal' with a capital R.
So how do you like this?
How do you like that?
How would you like that if
I put that over........
Hear the sounds of an ancient society.
Modern civilization compared is much more wicked
Its giant steel cantilever arches standing tall,
above the crushed, uneven rubble dangling
in the midst of a swinging, wrecking ball.
And a suspended machine emblazoned with
a cross of human bones held firm
Its oppression is relinquished when it represents
the sincerity of a newly digging worm.
These are all eternal examinations meant
for the ambassadors of telepathic communications.
And then the sky rose it's facial curtain and the sound of ideas peeled out and
transformed into s***e and the air shot through into a complete works of dripping architectural fireworks displays.
Bang! A series of flying silver pinwheels draping themselves over
an iridescent green backdrop that crackles as they drop and flee into fabulous antiquity.
Bang! Descending bits of burning vinyl form the shape of a fiery carousel of light that drifts out of the dark sky falling quickly as it brilliantly burns the star-studded eyes out of your face.
No, not really.
Bang! A giant gold fountain (pleasure under difficulties) glittering X-ray
piano sprinkles that tell let slip leak pour forth spill down and fall hysterically.
We all have different opinions about the way things R, don't we?
Different opinions appear, yet so often values flee; when our judgments
reach out for a thick state, our differences flee into infinity.
Those divisions may emerge but let's don't divide love and death (it's so cold).
Lets change it, I know, I'll quote the final scene from Tristan and Isolde:
"Let's both drown ourselves in the world's resonating whirlwind, and as we're disintegrating
into pure sounds that go unheard by mortal ears we'll sink and drink the kiss of the overwhelming rapture of death. The end."