Tear the corners off your 20 dollar bills
And paste them to the swimmers shoulders
Save your spilling
Shorthand and black thread
My side was aching low
We're idiots again
Comfort's made of glass
All along the fault ripe enough to rain
Mercy waits to let you lie
It's not far to lean
Just enough to speed curb
Hit running warm
Too close to ever see
Waiting station reds
Shift down into clear
Shake the lead off your hands
Sawdust mouthing
Roman axes way
Tender crazed the storm rolls down your spine
Comfort's made a mess
All along the fault ripe enough to rain...