How will it be when good conversation's not enough anymore, when we can't remember what we're blaspheming for, when we are struck down by the burden we bore, when I'm still a failure and you're still a whore, when our hands are no longer greedy and poor, when my severed head stares at you from the floor? Then, baby, how will it be? How will it be when our tongues are limp and have nothing to add, when we will have turned out just like mom and dad, when we've pissed all over the dreams that we had, when I've stopped classifying your actions as bad, when your foolish lips have stopped making me mad, when touching each other makes us nauseous and sad? Then, baby, how will it be? How should it be, and baby, what's the point of finite love? I suppose we'll see. How will it be when the blade of our wits has cut through this old cord, when we've noticed the things that were better ignored, when it's taken us for more than we can afford, when God cannot find us a proper reward, when there's no destination we are stumbling toward, when we've realized it wasn't just that we were bored? Then, baby, how will it be?
credits
from Dead Animals,
released July 18, 2009
Brooks - acoustic guitars, bass guitar, organ, drums, vocals
Landon Strause - accordion
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