Treehouse

 

Words & Music: Bobby Shiflett

It’s no new sensation
My dark reservations
Stand around this down-sound confounded town.
And it only brings me down
When I’m looking at the ground
And the ground is looking back, looking through the cracks.
It’s the story of a kid who never said and never did
Know the half of it
Never got shit.

He has a special tree
Shuts his eyes and counts to three
Another day the evil jungle is cleared away
And the monkeys hold their court 
The jester is a sport
He wears a crown of thorns and their tribe is born
And a crowd does gather near
But the chatter is insincere
Neanderthals need their dirty deeds:

When they lay the royal carpet at your feet
And the roses are smelling so sweet
You’re dead meat…

It’s the silence of the lambs
And the screaming of the damned
They cry for answers, alcohol and topless dancers
And late-night limousines and tragic drama queens…

 Posted by at 4:07 pm
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