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Cantatonia Miscellaneous Bulimic Beats I thought we'd escape I packed a fishing-line and counted on it I thought we'd escape I packed a fishing-line and counted on it But dreaming is for moonrise And moonlight ails these tired eyes I treat him like a lady I treat him as I would he unto me Give Rose rose-seller a run for her money With silicone and poetry But it's the end of me I thought it could change I'd wake up one morning and find nothing to rearrange I couldn't get there Behind his wall of Sunday papers I thought it could change I'd wake up one morning and find nothing to rearrange But dreaming is for moonrise And moonlight ails these tired eyes I treat him like a lady I treat him as I would he unto me Give Rose rose-seller a run for her money With silicone and poetry And it's the end of me And here I am Here I am Here I stand Here in my kitchen where I'm familiar with every brand Here I am A front line of labels where I witness custard's last stand Here I am |
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