In Houston - Tapes 'n Tapes

And I see high jump kings with roadside stirrups on

When I come back to meet the bear, the sheets are gone

Take over the tombs

Dead lock the circus

Gawking throngs

Hijack the meditation train

We still belong

In Houston, in Oslo, the contracts, the con slow

And no sex and no sleep

It’s hard toe

It’s hard speak

And no shoes and no shawl

In high tents

The tribe stalls

And I see high jump kings with roadside stirrups on

When I come back to meet the bear, the sheets are gone

Take over the tombs

Dead lock the circus

Gawking throngs

Hijack the meditation train

We still belong

In Houston, in Oslo, the contents are read slow

And no scents and no seas

It’s hard times

It’s hard speak

And tongues crack and jaws fall

In high tents and I stall out

Then I’m already on the stairs

My hands are dry.

My legs are bare

My feet can’t slip across the floor

Take on the door.

Take on the door

Six seas, five prints for Houston

Poor Mickey spits

Sidecars will put you in the grave

Slick sights, they treat you just the same

Each time, we hear another call

I want it less.

You want it more

Clowns take the bitter, bitter share

Sidestep the street.

Watch what she wears

I can’t leave you here