My alter-ego. Hes an escape artist,
hes only truly happy when hes under arrest.
oh how he handsome, scheduled to hang to death
Hes only truly happy at the precipice.
(Listen to the song to get the strumming pattern)
Hes like a mirror. He sticks into our ears
a stethoscope to the chest of the vacant years.
I cant escape the chair, Im etherized with fear
that my only talent is in
Hanging here, but then its
(Can also play hanging here, but then its)
Hey boy, Ive got your man hes right here
putty in my hands
ice cream and sweets,
coming in the sheets
he got no excuse to leave.
but in the real world, an intertidal cave,
I ride a desk chair waiting for a tidal wave
I feel like dancing, but that is miles away
Im feeling hard and hollow like paper mache.
My alter ego. Hes in a jailers cage
he sits and waits for the devil to abet his escape.
Im sorry pastor, I cant be pasteurized.
All of the bibles in the world for a metal file.
At every clock strike, he hears the jailers keys
and the doubt starts to sprout til hes on his knees.
and he remembers like its his mothers call
to feel his hand find a grip at the top of the wall.
and I want to feel it, I want to feel the fire
of the leftover sun on the roofing tiles.
I want to feel it, I want to feel the fire
of the leftover sun on the
(Can also play Roofing tiles, But still its)
Hey boy, Ive got your man hes right here
putty in my hands
ice cream and sweets,
coming in the sheets
he got no excuse to leave.
Hey boy, Ive got your man hes right here
putty in my hands
ice cream and sweets,
coming in the sheets
he got no excuse to leave.