Quit making faces at the one I love   These errant tightropes that you're thinkin' of   Can't be undone the instant that they're set   Above this scorched and torrid hallowed ground      Or so they say in the city   So they say in the sea   Set your watch round the corner   While they bleed      I heard a rumor that you lost your job   Was it just hearsay or of factual ground?   This tightrope's set now there's no going back   To Sepiata and the Plastic Surgeons with      Pineapple cones bleaching your bones   Pineapple cones bleaching your bones   Pineapple cones      They came on the crest of a wave   The cusp of Equinox today but they'll surely go   This pillar of sleep orbited   By thousands of delicate thoughts that will surely go      These satellites fleeced at the door   Comprised of the reason of years that will surely go      As life flashes fitfully down   This spirit so fitfully drowns   A signal is sent from the core   To bring all the satellites home, home, home, yeah      A quart of the way   A quart of the ghost still remains   Tsunami that rip at the skin   Anonymous wrenches of blame      A great tidal wave   Over the house on the hill   The snakes are all burden with lead   Plum bum dementia for them, just don't forget