[Kimya Dawson]
I spun and I stood, and I look back at the good,
And I remembered seeing ghosts, and I remembered being tiny.
I remembered always hiding with only flashlights lighting.
Had to pee when you found the best spot. Bad timing.
Climbing a dogwood. Barking, in bloom.
Sting singing on the ceiling of a blue bedroom.
Like a Harlem-line summertime hootenanny barbecue:
Screaming "I'm fine!", but I think they all knew.
Cause you can't hide your childhood flying dreams
Through your fishbowl-wall transparencies
And the clock tick-tocked. It was time to leave.
I walked away from everyone and everything,
And I thought when I left, that I couldn't come back.
With that old household never home again.
And then, when I ran toward the one-man-band,
I began abandoning all my friends.
[Aesop Rock]
All dressed up, like a spider in a cup
Entirely divided from his hub
Addressing injuries commissioned by the Suffolk county brier
When building coverage out of rubber tyres
Or guns out of thumbs...
Negotiated inter-stellar peace talks
Mothership transmitting intel on the meatloaf
Ummm... It's getting cold, sugar water getting warm
Cruising to a future summer, suiting up for civil war
How? All dressed up like a spider in a cup
Hiding tiny b***erflies inside his gut
Having settled down, several thousand miles from his blood
To climb and tirelessly high-dive into a sponge
s***e invaders through a paper Rita Hayworth
Trying to tunnel 'till he ankle deep in pay-dirt
Or halo deep in water...
Glub glub... wondering if running
Is considered by the people to be cowardly or cunning
[Hook] (x2)
Boom-er-oomerang, Boom-er-oomerang
Boom-er-oomerang, Boom-er-oomerang
[Kimya Dawson]
I went east with a hole to fill in my chest.
I went west with it filled: off to build a nest.
I'm impressed. I'm depressed. I'm the best. I'm a mess.
With a pretty little baby girl upon my breast.
And next: progress, twist, turn, digress.
Busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, never rest.
I missed the rest as you might suspect,
And I tried to fly, but my wings are wet.
A kid in the woods, ducked down in the shrubs.
Out of hiding just in time to greet the sun,
So here I stand with my hand out cast aflame.
I'm sorry that sometimes I'm so lame.
I'm sorry that sometimes I'm a deadbeat friend.
The worry makes me scurry into my own head.
With my eyes on the rise, feet where it sets,
Sentimental obstacles; of course it's me not them.
[Aesop Rock]
All dressed up, like a spider in a cup
I'm four bald tires in the mud
When it's diner food or bust
Spiralling a sign of whats to come
While pretending I am fine with what I've done
I'm not, but homies that appreciate the crisis
And treat 'em like they seen em with a second set of eyelids
Ok, that wasn't fair, admittedly I wasn't there
Long before I volunteered as unabashed, unaware
How? All dressed up, like a spider in a cup
Who never knew a silence so abrupt
When the mileage in the middle, turn a siren to a hush
First you hate it, then you love it, then you try it as a crutch
Long Island was the hatchery, NYC the wetstone
Sharpening the carving knives, foraging for breadcrumbs
I headed west, planned to boomerang back
Sidetracked by a trans-continental cage match
[Hook] (x2)
I spun and I stood, and I look back at the good,
And I remembered seeing ghosts, and I remembered being tiny.
I remembered always hiding with only flashlights lighting.
Had to pee when you found the best spot. Bad timing.
Climbing a dogwood. Barking, in bloom.
Sting singing on the ceiling of a blue bedroom.
Like a Harlem-line summertime hootenanny barbecue:
Screaming "I'm fine!", but I think they all knew.
Cause you can't hide your childhood flying dreams
Through your fishbowl-wall transparencies
And the clock tick-tocked. It was time to leave.
I walked away from everyone and everything,
And I thought when I left, that I couldn't come back.
With that old household never home again.
And then, when I ran toward the one-man-band,
I began abandoning all my friends.
[Aesop Rock]
All dressed up, like a spider in a cup
Entirely divided from his hub
Addressing injuries commissioned by the Suffolk county brier
When building coverage out of rubber tyres
Or guns out of thumbs...
Negotiated inter-stellar peace talks
Mothership transmitting intel on the meatloaf
Ummm... It's getting cold, sugar water getting warm
Cruising to a future summer, suiting up for civil war
How? All dressed up like a spider in a cup
Hiding tiny b***erflies inside his gut
Having settled down, several thousand miles from his blood
To climb and tirelessly high-dive into a sponge
s***e invaders through a paper Rita Hayworth
Trying to tunnel 'till he ankle deep in pay-dirt
Or halo deep in water...
Glub glub... wondering if running
Is considered by the people to be cowardly or cunning
[Hook] (x2)
Boom-er-oomerang, Boom-er-oomerang
Boom-er-oomerang, Boom-er-oomerang
[Kimya Dawson]
I went east with a hole to fill in my chest.
I went west with it filled: off to build a nest.
I'm impressed. I'm depressed. I'm the best. I'm a mess.
With a pretty little baby girl upon my breast.
And next: progress, twist, turn, digress.
Busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, never rest.
I missed the rest as you might suspect,
And I tried to fly, but my wings are wet.
A kid in the woods, ducked down in the shrubs.
Out of hiding just in time to greet the sun,
So here I stand with my hand out cast aflame.
I'm sorry that sometimes I'm so lame.
I'm sorry that sometimes I'm a deadbeat friend.
The worry makes me scurry into my own head.
With my eyes on the rise, feet where it sets,
Sentimental obstacles; of course it's me not them.
[Aesop Rock]
All dressed up, like a spider in a cup
I'm four bald tires in the mud
When it's diner food or bust
Spiralling a sign of whats to come
While pretending I am fine with what I've done
I'm not, but homies that appreciate the crisis
And treat 'em like they seen em with a second set of eyelids
Ok, that wasn't fair, admittedly I wasn't there
Long before I volunteered as unabashed, unaware
How? All dressed up, like a spider in a cup
Who never knew a silence so abrupt
When the mileage in the middle, turn a siren to a hush
First you hate it, then you love it, then you try it as a crutch
Long Island was the hatchery, NYC the wetstone
Sharpening the carving knives, foraging for breadcrumbs
I headed west, planned to boomerang back
Sidetracked by a trans-continental cage match
[Hook] (x2)