Nixon:Twice In Ten Minutes: Difference between revisions
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Through his eyes, she watches her face up o the screen. And his hand drops to his wallet. And the gears just turn again. "How long can you fight us? How did you think you could run?" He brings his eyes up to his cross, she watches her face up on the screen. And his hand slams down the gavel. And the gears just turn again. We sing "It's alright, it happens all the time, but not to me. Not to me." All our dreams are manufactured. And in this business of lullabies, we always shit where we sleep (while the bible harvests skin). Our blood won't drive your tractors. Our blood won't plow your fields. And our blood won't ever stain someone else's pillows again. Remember; they may own the fire, but you are the gasoline. | Through his eyes, she watches her face up o the screen. And his hand drops to his wallet. And the gears just turn again. "How long can you fight us? How did you think you could run?" <span class="plainlinks">[http://www.allaccentpillows.com/ <span style="color:black;font-weight:normal; text-decoration:none!important; background:none!important; text-decoration:none;/*CITATION*/">throw pillows</span>]</span> He brings his eyes up to his cross, she watches her face up on the screen. And his hand slams down the gavel. And the gears just turn again. We sing "It's alright, it happens all the time, but not to me. Not to me." All our dreams are manufactured. And in this business of lullabies, we always shit where we sleep (while the bible harvests skin). Our blood won't drive your tractors. Our blood won't plow your fields. And our blood won't ever stain someone else's pillows again. Remember; they may own the fire, but you are the gasoline. | ||
- lyrics by [[Matt Haas]] | - lyrics by [[Matt Haas]] | ||
Revision as of 10:58, 26 September 2011
Through his eyes, she watches her face up o the screen. And his hand drops to his wallet. And the gears just turn again. "How long can you fight us? How did you think you could run?" throw pillows He brings his eyes up to his cross, she watches her face up on the screen. And his hand slams down the gavel. And the gears just turn again. We sing "It's alright, it happens all the time, but not to me. Not to me." All our dreams are manufactured. And in this business of lullabies, we always shit where we sleep (while the bible harvests skin). Our blood won't drive your tractors. Our blood won't plow your fields. And our blood won't ever stain someone else's pillows again. Remember; they may own the fire, but you are the gasoline.
- lyrics by Matt Haas