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Gold Fronts - Portugal. The Man
The sun bent down and spoke
With the last lips
They spoke of hell and things
They knew they'd never miss
Bridge shelter and the cold creek bed
That breaks backs and leads eyes down
Faces drag against the dirt
And the ears should be living this muddy sound
Where the white whales roll just once a year
Arms feed the hatchet with an african appetite
Matched machetes sparkle shine
And shape that small scale guillotine
I've been getting pretty sleeping
In these boxes
The blackened mule faces outside my door
Shouting
Shouting
Shouting
Shouting
Oooohhhh
Oooohhhh
The club met the seal and the seal met the dog
That carried the man to the end of the trail
Where they
Walked down the streets
Pavement black beneath their feet
I
Have a little trouble
With these black glass lungs
I
And dealing in the man with the gold tooth grin
I
I've been
Pretty sleeping in these boxes
The blackened mule faces outside my door
Shouting
Shouting
Shouting
Shouting
Oooohhhh
Oooohhhh
Oooohhhh
Oooohhhh
I've been getting pretty sleeping in these boxes
The blackened mule faces outside my door
Shouting
Shouting
Shouting
Shouting
Ooohhh ooh ooh ohh ohh
Ooohhh ooh ooh ohh ohh
Ooohhh ooh ooh ohh ohh
Ooohhh ooh ooh ohh ohh
Ooohhh ooh ooh ohh ohh
Oohh
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