Beck Lyrics Ipsum

'til the yard is all clean 'til they fall down and deflate all the way and i bought some coffee and i learn to be what fights against me and i passed out in manure and i woke up on the ceiling and i'm puttin' them up for sale. and phone machines and a fax machine and talk to your devils and the factories, casualties are looking for mangled jewels and the show was whimsical and sublime and the tongues will burn in vain and their eyes and with hearts to laugh and you got the hotwax residues and you...uh, there's mascara bleeding out of your eyes and your lingo coined from the sacrament of a casino.

'cause he's lookin in the phonebook for your number and your name 'cause you got something that i just got to get with a thousand grizzled nerves hangin' loose at the end about a shotgun wedding and a stain on my shirt ah, you got it all the times in between altogether in a snake pit of souls and all the memories i wanted to forget for making leaps and dragged that thing away and i don't mind bein' afraid and i got on the school bus and i knew that i was right and i'll tell myself i'm special till the end and it's written in the pages and make all the big boys scream and my pants ain't getting no bigger and put your skeletons in jail. and she speaks inside a cloud and the backwater's calling your name and the dust did settle down and the food don't taste the same and the mayonnaise comes and the night's just begun and tightening above the buckles and you...uh, there's mascara bleeding out of your eyes.

'cause everybody knows, the circus is closed a house of disrepute, the dust of opiates all dressed in rag and bones and he looks to the clouds, all pink and disheveled and i am disappointed and i cannot believe and i know that i'm dealing and i went out on tour and it's written in the pages and the diesel burning oil in the campfire roach and there must have been some pickles and your mouth, it smells like hair gel are bent obscene.