we hear the dealers with their words

that ride the tails

of their cigarette smoke

sliding through the tunnels of our ears



those greasy marionettes of

real bone and blood

stand on the corner of washington square



vision stinging

eyes blurring



elevators got your rising so high

17 floors you want so much more

elevators got you rising so high

17 floors you want so much more



there's lightning on the ceiling

coming from the corner of her eye...



somewhere horses flee from thunder

somewhere the bones of a cat

are buried under a garden

well ther's a radio on

broken songs empty digression

won't be ling to you and me are gone from here



lightning on the ceiling

coming from the corner of her eye