Tv On The Radio

Congratulations on the mess you made of things;
On trying to reconstruct the air and all that brings.
And oxidation is the compromise you own
But this is beginning to feel like the dog wants her bones saved
You force your fire then you falsify your deeds
Your methods dot the disconnect from all your creeds
And fortune strives to fill the vacuum that it feeds
But this is beginning to feel like the dog's lost her lead
This is beginning to feel like the long winded blues of the never
This is beginning to feel like it's curling up slowly and finding a throat to choke
This is beginning to feel like the long winded blues of the never
Barely controlled locomotive consuming the picture and blowing the crows, the smoke
This is beginning to feel like the long winded blues of the never
Static eplosion devoted to crushing the broken and shoving their souls to ghost
Eternalised. Objectified.
You set your sights so high.
But this is beginning to feel like
the bolt busted loose from the lever
Never you mind
Death professor
Your structure's fine
My dust is better
Your victim flies so high