Beck Lyrics Ipsum

'cause it's squalid and it's solid and it's a bankrupt corpse a borrowed dime in different light a broken blanket, flaming sawdust a hideous game vanishes in thin air accessories accessorising all i need is all i need is two white horses in a line taking all the treasures you could hold and all that it feeds and broken pantyhose and everything's perfect and everything's bright and he picks up a magazine, turns on the tv and i broke out in a rash and i learn to be what fights against me and i opened up the taco stand and i realized i was in a rock video and i'm down to the sound and if it's only me who's scared and shops full of cold cuts and candy and the roof is falling down on my brain and the skyline rising and there must have been some bagels and there's a fume in this truck and this is kind of a stupid song you write when you're unemployed and with hearts to laugh and you just sittin' there as i say reason i'm late on.

'cause all my cash was lent 'til the yard is all clean a gambler's purse lays on the road a heaven that we left behind a throwaway from an open grave all my days i had moldy bread all my friends got dixie soul and a worm of hope and all the memories i wanted to forget for making leaps and crave the love you threw away and my instincts poisoned and noise that laughs, falls off their maps and she thought i was a freak and she's the kickin' the shit and the crippled psalms and they're helpless and forgetting in the background holding nothing and this life it goes by fast and when the sun is down and you just sittin' there and you wait at the light and watch for a sign that you're breathing and you're taking a leak and your mouth, it smells like hair gel and your talk about fashions that come crashin' in late at night are those clogs or platform shoes.

'bout barney 'cause my kneecaps are turnin' slightly brown 'cause we're on the good ship 'cuz one's got a weasel and the other's got a flag 'til i could hardly speak a dead ditch waiting for to bury my load a sister out of control adults with cordless personalities ammunition souls shooting and all those jokes have already been written and call them all the nasty things that you can and crave the love you threw away and every hour that passes and everyone's kissing their own hands and i gave it all away and i really don't think that i know what to do and it shot right up my nose and set up a whole new show and the typecast heathen with the future all rancid and tore them limb from limb.