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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Ezra Bell
Ezra Bell
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Scott Lester Michaud
Scott Lester Michaud
Songwriter
Jane Margaret Igoe
Jane Margaret Igoe
Songwriter
Patrick Winfield McCarthy
Patrick Winfield McCarthy
Songwriter
Evan Anderson Cael
Evan Anderson Cael
Songwriter
David Vanderford Celis
David Vanderford Celis
Songwriter
Kerry Ellen Grether
Kerry Ellen Grether
Songwriter
Benjamin Cole Wuamett
Benjamin Cole Wuamett
Songwriter

Lyrics

Well I remember you, you haven't changed a bit You've still got that sadness, it's hanging from your lips You point your tattooed fingers at the fish As they swim off to the sunset so freely Oh there they go, there, there they go With the contents of your pockets, you give surnames like "Shabazz" Treat them like your children and you dress them up in drag You're all down passing out predictions on the ave' To conclusions of the book we are both reading Somewhere between the spines They say Time is always watching, he pours himself a drink He says, "Well I don't read the news, I'd rather use that time to think How I fly on by while you fiddle with your phones Like foolish waves go crashing over unsuspecting stones" You look into the mirror, blowing kisses at your flaws Speaking broken Spanish, drinking goat's milk through a straw The twinkle from your eyes is said to stimulate the gods Or the businessmen who idolize your lunchbox Saying, "What's he got, well what's he got?" You watch them soldiers starving from your bleachers in the shade On Halloween, you heed their knocks and feed them hand grenades You'll suffer through martinis while old Frank Sinatra's played On the speakers there to drown out the gunshots Oh my, my, my, my Time is always watching, he pours himself a drink He says, "Well I don't read the news, I'd rather use that time to think How I fly on by while you fiddle with your phones Like foolish waves go crashing over unsuspecting stones" Oh my, my, my, my Communism's crumbled, cabinets have lied And if they told you half the truth, you'd do your best to act surprised There are holes in every mountain, lines on every road There are tractors at the tree line making gypsies of the Joads Mm-hm, mmmm mm-hm (How was that?)
Writer(s): Benjamin Cole Wuamett, David Vanderford Celis, Evan Anderson Cael, Jane Margaret Igoe, Kerry Ellen Grether, Patrick Winfield Mccarthy, Scott Lester Michaud Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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