dreamy psych-folk
Patrick Quinn, lead guitar by Mike Stibor
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wouldn't it be so nice to shoot up in paradise
with all of your heroes dead, pushing up flowerbeds,
so dive if the devil dares, the breeze brushing back your hair,
this angel looks like a cloud and only i hear these sounds,
and i want it too much to care but get shot down by sniper's snares,
if all you've believed is a lie then sink your teeth into sky...
life as a loner, life is a loaner from god i've heard,
but youth is a war few make through not buried or burned...
wouldn't it not be nice to sleep in a block of ice,
unthaw with the asteroid's fire, servants of heaven's choir,
when you're short on drugs, long on time,
and being young is a crime,
i'm swimming in lava lamps, i have no clue who i am,
moonage comatose post-haste, as i parachute into space,
flying saucer pupils with no class, teachers passing on prejudice,
and everywhere there's a lure-laced hook transparent if you care to look...
don't pill me lies laced with what you've lost,
pillows of cumulous, heaven's gauze...
lookupaheadisheadedforclouds
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