Finer Houses down Brookville Centre.
Springtime dreaming, phlegm colored gold and pictures made of lampshades.
Hold on, put a dime on my upper lip and roll me down towards the better hemisphere.
Torchlights can’t find me on the next day of life,
Lanterns can’t guide me through the pains of love’s afterlife.
But still, I’ll wait eternity for your daughters.