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| Dispatch Who Are We Living For? Lightning We hear the dealers with the words that ride the tails Of their cigarette smoke Sliding through the tunnels of our ears Those greasy marionettes of Real bone and blood Stand on the corner of Washington Square Vision stining Eyes blurring Elevator's got you rising so high 17 floors you want so much more Elevator's got you rising so high 17 floors you want so much more There's lightning on the ceiling Coming from the corner of her eye... Somewhere horses flee from thunder Somewhere the bones of a cat Are buried under a garden Well there's a radio on Broken songs empty digression Won't be long to you and me are gone from here Lightning on the ceiling Coming from the corner of her eye... |
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