Picture frame - a thousand words. Disembodied feelings towards the fall. Illness descending, the flagship returns. Where in the world could I be for happier times? In the gutter sniping at the glass ceiling in front of me.
The truth be told, the truth in tow. I'm in looking on beyond below. Favours seized, favours past. Unhappiness leads to the dance, the dance. If anyone sees, if anyone knows. Tell them I'm up there with my dreams, approaching ground level. Watering plants, growing flowers is all I could want in a concrete jungle. Maybe I've found my life as a gardener after all.
Spoken lies, fobbed off dreams. You know you're in for a zinger the moment it leaves. Kept in books, in computers and in magazines. What picture did you have in a life like this? I spoke of no ambition but there must be more to it than this. Keep hanging at the edge of the curtain surveying the ruins I'm living in. Planning a mode of escape from the intrusion of those inside.
We paid our way in the dreams of romance, wishing for the exotic life that paid us through. Now the cold remnants of other people looking in destroys the chance of victory. Maybe I'm too envious or maybe I just don't know. Either way, there's not much to say in here. When the cats come in, it's the only time I feel a sense of purpose.
Watering plants, growing flowers is all I could want in a concrete jungle. Maybe I've found my life as a gardener after all. Alone after all the spent failures we've built up in the sand. Those dreams of escape take on a new form and we spend it like we're dreaming a new religion. Promises we probably could never keep but still cling onto like children. I don't want to fail you.
The truth be told, the truth in tow. I'm in looking on beyond below. Favours seized, favours past. Unhappiness leads to the dance, the dance. If anyone sees, if anyone knows. Tell them I'm up there with my dreams, approaching ground level. Watering plants, growing flowers is all I could want in a concrete jungle. Maybe I've found my life as a gardener after all.
Spoken lies, fobbed off dreams. You know you're in for a zinger the moment it leaves. Kept in books, in computers and in magazines. What picture did you have in a life like this? I spoke of no ambition but there must be more to it than this. Keep hanging at the edge of the curtain surveying the ruins I'm living in. Planning a mode of escape from the intrusion of those inside.
We paid our way in the dreams of romance, wishing for the exotic life that paid us through. Now the cold remnants of other people looking in destroys the chance of victory. Maybe I'm too envious or maybe I just don't know. Either way, there's not much to say in here. When the cats come in, it's the only time I feel a sense of purpose.
Watering plants, growing flowers is all I could want in a concrete jungle. Maybe I've found my life as a gardener after all. Alone after all the spent failures we've built up in the sand. Those dreams of escape take on a new form and we spend it like we're dreaming a new religion. Promises we probably could never keep but still cling onto like children. I don't want to fail you.
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