Hat In The Wind - Themselves

Eyes open, I want to masturbate in a locked…

Eyes open, I want to masturbate in a locked…

Your lover is at yoga, breaking a sweat

While you shoot mid-morning coffee nerved on the front steps

Pouring its slave labor likelihood all over

Your wounded lung.

everyone’s allowed to have these thoughts

After all, this is the song where you sing i am a drug addict for 8 bars

It is a blessing to have rifle eyes in times of war

One is lucky to go deaf over the course of one’s life

I love these legs

In the speaking up and claiming of my projector

It’s a dancing fool moment happy taking the blame

For all my hammer marks and… dropped gavels… and eyes

Open, i want to masturbate in a locked planetarium

I am a drug addict, i am a drug addict, i am a drug addict…

Iamadrugaddictiamadrugaddictiamadrugaddict…

I am a drug addict…

Sometimes you can still see dead-end signs in my eyes

I’m still burning the bones of my strong arm over my mother

Never unclenching to the spoiled little stone in my skull to a sober

I feel as though I thaw all day, everyday

Someone from second grade well into his last set of teeth

Waiting for help…

Will you, will you stay if i promise you eggs and glue

And guns and birds and bread?

Will you stay if i promise you eggs and things and yes and yes and yes…

I met a beggar who says he was famous

And nowadays he only tells two jokes

One about eagles, weasels, and jet engines

The other a terrible one about a left-handed match

Says the only thing you need on the skids is a hat

Says he’d also pissed away a million dollars in his day

Nowadays when i want to feel like a millionaire

I just walk into a bank…

So i stood in the bank, and started thinking…

While exact clocks spilled over into numbers of people

Comfortably naming all 900 bones in their yesterday rhine

Laughing in the face of so many black bags

Luggage a natural melody to the fear poet

I can admire the of an arrow all day

But by no means am i one with smoking dust

In a Roxborough graveyard or painting wasp nests shut

For my slumlord in Cincinnati

I’d rather run with piano open in my head

Laughing with your hat in the wind…

Not at you…

I’m not laughing at you but with you

Hat in the wind