my litlle velcro twineis in a state were the cars donıt drive
and the people stare at number five in gold
didnıt I tell you youıld be happy
didnıt I tell you itıs a sell-out
even your mother will be proud
my little sense of time
is big enough to count the seconds
between a fine toast and a toast thatıs made to burn
donıt this lack of color suit me
or shall I chase another greyhound
bark my day
all of my wheels are turning
both of my hands are burning
follow the sons of grey
find me a cloud thatıs yurning
find me a sheep thatıs kerning
find me the sons of grey
through windows we gaze at concrete that plays
songs of grey the bricks are in place
my spoonıs on a tray songs of grey
crossfading the goat that sleeps in my throat
songs of grey emergency rhymes
to polish the chymes songs of grey
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