Cut paper snowflakes hang down from the ceiling.
The bathwater ripples, predicting an earthquake.
An air bubble surfaces, rising to heaven.
Some call this living, but I call this living a lie.
Dreadful sorry. (x4)
The grandaddy longlegs is climbing the curtain.
The breeze from the carport smells like a tornado.
The sound from the turnpike comes in through the window.
Some call this living, but I call this living alone.
Dreadful sorry. (x4)
"I can tell by your accent that you're from Ohio,"
The pump jockey says as he's wiping the window.
Stumbling (tumbling?) forward, he snaps the antenna.
Some call this living, but I call this living in hell.
Dreadful sorry. (x4)
"I can tell by your accent that you're from Ohio."
The granddaddy longlegs is climbing the curtain.
Cut paper snowflakes hang down from the ceiling.
Some call this living, but I call this living a lie.
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