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lyrics
I once watched the night brighten while the watch clock circled its point. Pretending on progress and anxiety just heightened. Worldwide you could feel it, like the ebb and flow of empires. I make the words scuttle along and watch the day for all it's worth, while worth itself retires with the tide and smirks. Like secret agents bent on placing no trace, strangers in low places shift eyes and pray for rain. There's no change in the changing day, just a change in how you make your way. Or have your way made. Choice or chance, I hoist demands and plan for second options. Stand alone in winter, sing along in summer. In a former life I was a head shrinker, now my thoughts too large for paper. A dead ringer for '85, I never caught the vapors. The harp strings sing for you, earth dweller. There's a timecop on your tail, monkey on back, seconds sliding scale. In a former life I was a head shrinker, now my thoughts too large for paper. A dead ringer for '85, I never caught the vapors.
I was a head shrinker, dead ringer for '85.
Without the mic mass in his grasp, he floated out the atmosphere, and quarter past that, form lapsed back into gas, moving fast like a flame licking a sheet of glass. The quickening collapse of data. Don't lose the pattern, hold the atoms' entrapment, three laps on Saturn and back in 40 seconds flat. And even when he stuttered and stammered, all the ears fluttered enamored. The muttering rambles of Metz, utterly covered in karmic phantoms and other assorted talismans, scavenging sunken battleships. And without the mic mass in his grasp, he floated out the atmosphere. Keeps me rooted. Otherwise, give gravity the boot and get Buddha'd. In a former life I was a head shrinker, now my thoughts too large for paper. A dead ringer for '85, I never caught the vapors. The harp strings sing for you, earth dweller. There's a timecop on your tail, monkey on back, seconds sliding scale. In a former life I was a head shrinker, now my thoughts too large for paper. A dead ringer for '85, I never caught the vapors.
I was a head shrinker, dead ringer for '85.
credits
from Science For The Soundman,
released October 6, 2012
Monk Metz: words
Matt Calkins: tenor sax, FX
Mark France: guitar
Joel Hirsch: dumbek, congas
Dave Trenkel: Hammond organ, electric pianos, fake clavinet
JD Monroe: drums
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