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• Artiste: Shins, The
• Titre: My Seventh Rib
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Your silver tongue laughs at the clowns of our age A slow production line of cheap-shots from both sides Shot from the hip to my seventh rib A spoiled tomato lies in all that you say And I was the last of us to know Sound the alarm for my sentimental ways Have come in view and we've all got our own knives Sold to the worst of the devils we know Our mind and tight skin will be old But this wasn't meant for us to know Youth's open shutters Give way to another Taken by slight of hand... And every American Has the mouth of a pelican Now can I share that pillow with you love? They've got us in fits to find a way out Of this exploded view of a life once so simple First with the curse that my sentimental ways Are drawing my innocence to a close And these were not meant for me to know