Your stratospheric fear of catastrophe's near, fast it's here
Atmosphere past your ears, fall but you'll never land
Second star to the right
I'm gripping the grass and I'm pulling up daisies
Thank matter for mass and the comfort of gravity
Airplane eclipses over spirals of math – would or could the impact kill me?
Yes, yes, yes. No, no, no, no, no
It's just the high-noon moon saying “shoot for the stars,”
“Be the next big constellation, connect the dots between your parts.”
Dandelion seeds yet to ride on the breeze
You make a wish upon the dead but turn and call it a weed
Only plastic flowers never die
With the bones of a crow and ambitions of candle wax
What do you know of control?
The wind is simply at your back
It really seems pollen's more clever than bees, so you cue the final words of Leary:
And cry “Why, why, why? Why not? Why not? Why not?”
I'd rather be a hot air Hindenburg than an elephant tied right down to its stake
Cut ties, shed the dead weight
I ain't saying it's fate, but there are no mistakes, and
Dandelion seeds yet to ride on the breeze
You make a wish upon the dead but turn and call it a weed
Only plastic flowers never die. Well I cry on
Skies of blue linoleum
Clouds o' spilt milk, but am I the cup?
Here comes the sun, am I falling up?
Falling up. Here comes the sun, am I falling up?
Disney-Pixar Ludovico, Shirley Temple maraschino
Hotel rooms of Motley Crüe, Broadway producer improv troupes
Ray-Bans in your living room, eyeline hurts to be in view like
Stage fright only when its karaoke night with friends leave early
Did I earn this stupid hat?
Is now really a good time for a new tattoo?
Oh, is now really a good time for a new tattoo?
The larger they are
The harder they tend to fall
Much larger than life cause from such height
Life looks awful small
And dandelions grow in dirt
Magic mushrooms grow in piles of bullshit
I grew up in suburbia
Love us or hate us, pick us you're killing us, and
Dandelion seeds yet to ride on the breeze
You make a wish upon the dead but turn and call it a weed
Only plastic flowers never die. Well I cry on
Skies of blue linoleum
Clouds o' spilt milk, but am I the cup?
Here comes the sun, am I falling up?
Falling up
Here comes the sun, am I falling up?
(Did I earn this stupid hat?)
(Is now really a good time for a new tattoo?)
(Oh, is now really a good time for a new tattoo?)
Your stratospheric fear of catastrophe's near, fast it's here
Atmosphere past your ears, fall but you'll neverland
Second star to the right
And straight on ‘till you die
Paroles2Chansons dispose d’un accord de licence de paroles de chansons avec la Société des Editeurs et Auteurs de Musique (SEAM)
