Beck Lyrics Ipsum
Word Lists: Beck Lyrics
'cause you're shinin' way too bright a borrowed dime in different light a sight of perfect silence all i need is all i need is two white horses in a line taking all the dudes with banjos all the treasures you could hold and he's talking to me and i ate every one and i'm down to the sound and i'm reaching my threshold and let you go and the kids drinkin' in the park and there must have been some catfish and they're safe from any harm autographs and paid vacations.
And disconnect all the connections and he picks up a magazine, turns on the tv aww yeah-eah-eah. 'cause it don't taste so good 'cause there's nobody there 'til the yard is all clean a borrowed dime in different light a dead ditch waiting for to bury my load a diamond in the sleaze ah, yeah ain't it hard, ain't it hard always someone missing something and all your belongings and he picks up a magazine, turns on the tv and he's helpless and forgetting in the background saying nothing and i take all and grin at my future on the way and i won't take it back and i'll do whatever i can. and i'm feelin' bad even though nothing's wrong and it's flamin' like a steak and say you knew me way back when and the ground is much too clean and the show was whimsical and sublime and their tongues are full of heartless tales and you got the hotwax residues and your mouth, it smells like hair gel as his wife handed him a drink.
A chain link wind a parasite's appetite a story i wanna pass on to you that i think is all of that mixed, again all the battlements are empty all the wonderful things he saw amen.....bazookas and fisticuffs medicating in porches and broken pantyhose and everything else is small and i got something better than love and i'm puttin' them up for sale. and i've been drifting along in the same stale old shoes and it's a perfect day to lock yourself inside and it's marked upon their faces and it's written in the pages and knives tryin' to see her and the free hair growing on his sandwich and this is kind of a stupid song you write when you're unemployed are those clogs or platform shoes.
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And disconnect all the connections and he picks up a magazine, turns on the tv aww yeah-eah-eah. 'cause it don't taste so good 'cause there's nobody there 'til the yard is all clean a borrowed dime in different light a dead ditch waiting for to bury my load a diamond in the sleaze ah, yeah ain't it hard, ain't it hard always someone missing something and all your belongings and he picks up a magazine, turns on the tv and he's helpless and forgetting in the background saying nothing and i take all and grin at my future on the way and i won't take it back and i'll do whatever i can. and i'm feelin' bad even though nothing's wrong and it's flamin' like a steak and say you knew me way back when and the ground is much too clean and the show was whimsical and sublime and their tongues are full of heartless tales and you got the hotwax residues and your mouth, it smells like hair gel as his wife handed him a drink.
A chain link wind a parasite's appetite a story i wanna pass on to you that i think is all of that mixed, again all the battlements are empty all the wonderful things he saw amen.....bazookas and fisticuffs medicating in porches and broken pantyhose and everything else is small and i got something better than love and i'm puttin' them up for sale. and i've been drifting along in the same stale old shoes and it's a perfect day to lock yourself inside and it's marked upon their faces and it's written in the pages and knives tryin' to see her and the free hair growing on his sandwich and this is kind of a stupid song you write when you're unemployed are those clogs or platform shoes.