DR (09-11-1982 / London, England)

There Goes Your Mouth Sitting In Its Little Wrinkled Chair

There goes your mouth sitting in its little wrinkled chair
So suspicious and without any care, you
Laugh at the little speckled dots you call your mind
You’re such a poison lamiae sometimes,
But upon the table is the answer to the fable
You’re loosing your little precious mind

You laugh at the others and all their pain,
And try to tell yourself you’re not insane,
Oh I hate your most times,
But the rain falls and it ain’t coincidental your cover is falling from your face
And now you lost in space, but as you say…

You see that star Im gonna get mine and
You see that car Im gonna get mine,
Well please send me a postcard if you get that far, as from here
Its looks as if you’re lost your way back some time afar
You’re loosing your mind but send the card if you ever get that far

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