Текст песни The Garden - What Else Could I Be But A Jester?
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What else could he be but a jester?
In a make-out session with aggression
Putting morals into question
Seven minutes in heaven
Every 24 hours I’m raffling
Handprint on my face and nobody smacked me
A ghostly caress on my cheek has me laughing and gagging
Hear my body fucking bragging
About the brain that's still lagging
Elevator to the bottom of my ribcage
Flip it to the next page
Letters all stacked on each other
Lost touch with a goal
Vision is blurred
Ran straight into a pole
Elevator to the bottom of my ribcage
Flip it to the next page
Letters all stacked on each other
Lost touch with a goal
Vision is blurred
Ran straight into a pole
I was in Chicken Run
That’s why I’m here now
So many stories yeah
So much drama wow
Everyone treats me like an old smoke stack
Like the tilted brim of a Party City hat
Can’t get a word in
Can’t get nothing down
Nothing on paper except the layout of this ghost town
I write Tonapah cleverly
Like Goldfield's elderly
Wobbling down a brick road
I hunt for my reflection
No more algorithm
When I’m in the rhythm section
Mental inspection always searching for perfection
Like Halloween candy
I give out brilliant affection
Creeping around the city
Whip around the corner
Pull up to a Dell
Let me take your order
Peaking out my window
See a hearse doing donuts
Time to close the shutters
Time to close the shutters
Elevator to the bottom of my ribcage
Flip it to the next page
Letters all stacked on each other
Lost touch with a goal
Vision is blurred
Ran straight into a pole
In a make-out session with aggression
Putting morals into question
Seven minutes in heaven
Every 24 hours I’m raffling
Handprint on my face and nobody smacked me
A ghostly caress on my cheek has me laughing and gagging
Hear my body fucking bragging
About the brain that's still lagging
Elevator to the bottom of my ribcage
Flip it to the next page
Letters all stacked on each other
Lost touch with a goal
Vision is blurred
Ran straight into a pole
Elevator to the bottom of my ribcage
Flip it to the next page
Letters all stacked on each other
Lost touch with a goal
Vision is blurred
Ran straight into a pole
I was in Chicken Run
That’s why I’m here now
So many stories yeah
So much drama wow
Everyone treats me like an old smoke stack
Like the tilted brim of a Party City hat
Can’t get a word in
Can’t get nothing down
Nothing on paper except the layout of this ghost town
I write Tonapah cleverly
Like Goldfield's elderly
Wobbling down a brick road
I hunt for my reflection
No more algorithm
When I’m in the rhythm section
Mental inspection always searching for perfection
Like Halloween candy
I give out brilliant affection
Creeping around the city
Whip around the corner
Pull up to a Dell
Let me take your order
Peaking out my window
See a hearse doing donuts
Time to close the shutters
Time to close the shutters
Elevator to the bottom of my ribcage
Flip it to the next page
Letters all stacked on each other
Lost touch with a goal
Vision is blurred
Ran straight into a pole
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