Песня: Death of a Martian Bear paws and rascal power
Watching us in your garage
Big girl you ate the neighbor
The nova is over
Wake up and play
Balleradio
Make room for Clara's bare feet
The love of a Martian
Tick tock and waiting for the meteor
This clock is opening another door
Lots of love just keep it comin'
Making something out of nothin'
(These are the best that I)
I don't know how to say
Losin' what I love today
(These are the best that I)
Lots of love just keep it comin'
Making something out of nothin'
(These are the best that I)
I don't know what to say
Look at what I lost today
(And these are the things that I)
Blood flowers in the kitchen
Signing off and winding down
This Martian ends her mission
The nova is over
She caught the ball
By the mission bell
Chase lizards bark at donkeys
The love of a Martian
Let's bow our heads
And let the trumpets blow
Our girl is gone
God bless her little soul
Lots of love just keep it comin'
Making something out of nothin'
(These are the best that I)
I don't know how to say
Losin' what I love today
(These are the best that I)
Lots of love just keep it comin'
Making something out of nothin'
(These are the best that I)
I don't know what to say
Look at what I lost today
(And these are the things that I)
She's got a sword in case though this is not her lord
in case the one who can't afford to face her image is
restored to grace. Disappeared. No trace. Musky tears.
Suitcase. The down turn brave little burncub bearcareless
turnip snare rampages pitch color pages... down and out
but not in Vegas. Disembarks and disengages. No loft.
Sweet pink canary cages plummet pop dewskin
fortitude for the sniffing black noses that snort
and allude to the dangling trinkets that mimic teh dirt cough
go drink its. It's for you. Blue battered naval town
slip kisses delivered by duck muscles and bottlenosed
grifters arrive in time to catch the late show. It's a beehive
barrel race. A shehive stare and chase wasted feature who
tried and failed to reach her. Embossed beneath a box in
the closet that's lost. The kind that you find when you mind
your own mysteries. Shiv sister to the quickness before it
blisters into the newmorning milk blanket. Your ilk is funny
to the turnstyle touch bunny whose bouquet set a course for
bloom without decay. Get your broom and sweep the echoes
of yesternights fallen freckles... away...
)