my hearts stopped pumpin but my blood is still alive.
the rain hits the ground and the trees they dry it up.
my eyes wake up but my brain is sleeping fine.
one more thing for you and i to do before we shut our eyes
that you blame me and ill blame you, and were both right.
cuttin cat faces in the pines.
they say his teeth are wood and they want pictures of him.
the rain hits the ground and the trees they dry it up.
my chain hits the wood and the wood it turns to dust.
i picture you as if you were a pine.
my hearts stopped pumping but my blood is still alive.
were wood screws [all of our lives]
and were wood screws [all of our lives]
well my hearts stopped pumping but my blood is still alive.
i lay down with the southern range.
swallows drop in and dash the sky,
tracing lines of cursive on the horizon.
cutting cat faces in the pines.
mark the path back to the point of departure.
two by two and four by four the pines they lay down,
and i lay down with the southern range.