Lyrics to Wow (or drunk in a bar at 6:30 on a Tuesday)
Exited from my intoxicated moment I reflect back and see all the moments, and the exits. I gasped and grasped around to catch it before, to pretend my pretend situation was, in fact, pretended. But it has never really been that elementary since elementary school.
I lost it on my voyage from picking my nose to wondering if someone knows. And, now, I am back at picking my nose again. I think I like it, though, to exist apart and within. To carve out my solitary moment on the skin of a beautiful, bustling, rustling, hustling hootenanny full of sin. Attempting to weave underneath your arms and place the nape of my neck on the crook of everyone's shoulders; pleading,
?Hold me, hold me, hold me...make me whole?.
I drift again, and forget for a second, and there I am within my imaginary moments looking for imaginary moments. Somewhere in that fickle belly though I find what sustains me, what wipes out the stains in me. The times where I morph into the muttering, mistaken madman on the street and love it. Where my pen hits my pad with so much passion that my hand cramps from all of the love above it.
In an hour, though, I'll sigh, thinking I lost myself because my soul got so high. I'll leave my normal existence for these formal pricks and pens; thinking that I was crazy then, while all the while praying that I am crazy now. Trying to lose myself and forget the presence of the present somehow.
Weaving in and out of my knots of rope swings, while only hoping to multiply the moments where my mind goes blank, my body swells, and all I could think to mumble is ?Wow?.
Wow (or drunk in a bar at 6:30 on a Tuesday) Video:
I lost it on my voyage from picking my nose to wondering if someone knows. And, now, I am back at picking my nose again. I think I like it, though, to exist apart and within. To carve out my solitary moment on the skin of a beautiful, bustling, rustling, hustling hootenanny full of sin. Attempting to weave underneath your arms and place the nape of my neck on the crook of everyone's shoulders; pleading,
?Hold me, hold me, hold me...make me whole?.
I drift again, and forget for a second, and there I am within my imaginary moments looking for imaginary moments. Somewhere in that fickle belly though I find what sustains me, what wipes out the stains in me. The times where I morph into the muttering, mistaken madman on the street and love it. Where my pen hits my pad with so much passion that my hand cramps from all of the love above it.
In an hour, though, I'll sigh, thinking I lost myself because my soul got so high. I'll leave my normal existence for these formal pricks and pens; thinking that I was crazy then, while all the while praying that I am crazy now. Trying to lose myself and forget the presence of the present somehow.
Weaving in and out of my knots of rope swings, while only hoping to multiply the moments where my mind goes blank, my body swells, and all I could think to mumble is ?Wow?.
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