Home
Top Artistes
Top Paroles
Ajouter Paroles
Contact
menu
search
Contactez-nous
Artiste:
S.K.I.P.
Titre:
Gap in the Basket
Assurez-vous que les corrections sont tout à fait exactes
S'il vous plaît, les mettez en évidence en quelque sorte!
Vous pouvez, par exemple, écrire
INCORRECT: avant la mauvaise ligne
CORRECT: avant la correspondant ligne correcte
Autrement, nous ne pouvons les corriger pas! Merci pour votre aide.
Now there's a gap and a space Between the rusted guillotine blade Named for the precise manner in which it washes sins away They call it peace Ironic, 'cause due to the neck with boy attached Neither seeming too peaceful to be laid upon it To the right wing of the machine stands a hooded figure Draped in oil slicks and bloody rags Bold symbols of his tenure Left hand upon his heart The right upon the lever The frightened boy looked up at him and asked him, What's the weather? He said, It's sunny, it's cloudy It's raining somewhere else, another time And time is relative, you're born and then you die The only thing for certain is the blade And the basket And the gap between the two that tells the day of your passing And with that he read the requiem of the decree, crying, Remember all September because freedom isn't free The desert's dangerous when you attempt to leave your couches That's the price you pay for throwing rocks at tanks in glass houses Blade drops, heads roll Somewhere a storm is born Wings of butterflies have left their New Orleans in ruins Basket takes the head Circus folk return to watch their hobbies The sporadic acrobatics catching bones with just their bodies The basket catches most everything and the ground gets what it missed The pot, the piston's just a metaphor for the well in which you wish Person after person, a rusty blade will get its fix But still the basket holds the dirty laundry no one deals with It doesn't empty, only expands The numbers don't decrease For the demand of death-related casualties on foreign land Let's free Iraq-istan and all the lands we can't pronounce Running after evil shadows with our baskets sticking out Hands over our hearts, fingers interlocked and woven Like a little basket holding all our discarded emotions Don't blame peace for the death toll, guns for the rising crime They're simply instruments, martyrs doing that which they're designed Now everyone meets the guillotine Only a matter of time And time of course is relative And relativity is in your mind If you find the answers hard And questions not worth asking Perhaps you need to scratch your head That's lying in the basket. Blade drops, heads roll Somewhere a storm is born Wings of butterflies have left their New Orleans in ruins Basket takes the head Circus folk return to watch their hobbies The sporadic acrobatics catching bones with just their bodies