Well I’m a lucky guy/ I got a Southern charmer wrapped (rapt) around my wrists/ And the moon hangs low/ beneath my collar bone/ We flew around/ We watched the ocean on the television/ And the salts pulsed/ out the ether, oh/ What is art supposed to do/ when you gut her out/ and you strip her glue? / I am the singer/ I’m the sung/ I am the painter and the painted one/ ‘Cause the blood flows/ out the ether oh/ Write it down child/ Write it down ‘cause the T.V. won’t/ No the T.V. won’t/ No the T.V. / We are the lovers and the loved/ We see no danger in that/ Write it down child…/ In my dream I was an object/ but the sun was a man/ And I could tell what he was feeling by/ the light in the sand/ And the boundaries we like to see/ slipped away/ out the ether, hey!
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