Automatic writing by phantom limb
Pleurisy made to stand on two legs
That's how I bar my door?
In this age of blasting trumpets
In the lowest deep a lower depth
I don't want to hear those vile trumpets anymore
The night is an accumulation of dark air
The scholar will be forever poor
Gross gold runs headlong to boor
I don't want to hear those vile trumpets anymore
Call me Heraclitus the Obscure
Constantly weeping because the river doesn't move
It's been leaded by snider men to make a profit from the poor
Don't want to hear those vile trumpets anymore
People live with a private understanding
Sorrow's the wind blowing through
Truth is hiding in the wire
Elvis outside of Flagstaff
Looking for meaning in a cloud mass
Sees the face of Joseph Stalin
Then the wind changed the cloud into his smiling Lord
And he was affected profoundly
But he could never describe the feeling
He passed away on the bathroom floor
She's just trying to reach you
She's just trying to reach you
She's just trying to reach you
She's just trying to reach you
She's just trying to reach you
She's just trying to reach you
She's just trying to reach you
She's just trying to reach you
She's just trying to reach you
She's just trying to reach you
She's just trying to reach you
She's just trying to reach you
She's just trying to reach you
She's just trying to reach you
She's just trying to reach you
She's just trying to reach you
She's just trying to reach you
She's just trying to reach you
She's just trying to reach you