Album: The Grand EP
All Rights Reserved. ©2008

05 - Marcona

My eyes are dried out from the air
Her life and lies are lined ‘cross my table, wall and chair.
The bulb it flickers overhead.
It swings and cracks it sings – pushing dreams out from my head.

I need to lure myself to sleep.
I need to line up all my sheep.
I need to forsake; orange jar’s ablaze
I need an earthquake; shake me from this haze.

CHORUS
Mr. Fireman, will the flower can quench the thirst that spits & splits the timber of my mind?
Mr. Choirman, will the choir stand, singing songs while their wrongs are preached to the land?
Mr. Sniperman, do you have a plan, to shoot the suits of ill repute when they wave their hand?
Life in pokerland. Joker’s in command. What’s the signal Bob?

You wrote the book; I killed the pen.
I stole your soul; you sold it back again.
Your mantletop has reappeared
Confetti’d memories raining from the air.

The night sky has sold the moon; giving grime the silver spoon.
Brush her up my little broom; set the flowers by the tomb.
A room of dreams fills up in smoke; the womb of sparks came from my throat.
Oh Sabotage, what have you done?
Oh Sabotage, it warms like the sun.

CHORUS
Mr. Fireman, will the flower can quench the thirst that spits & splits the timber of my mind?
Mr. Choirman, will the choir stand, singing songs while their wrongs are preached to the land?
Mr. Sniperman, do you have a plan, to shoot the suits of ill repute when they wave their hand?
Life in pokerland. Joker’s in command. What’s the signal Bob?