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[Kimya Dawson] I spun and I stood, and I look back at the good, And I remembered seeing ghosts, and I remembered being tiny. I remembered always hiding with only flashlights lighting. Had to pee when you found the best spot. Bad timing. Climbing a dogwood. Barking, in bloom. Sting singing on the ceiling of a blue bedroom. Like a Harlem-line summertime hootenanny barbecue: Screaming "I'm fine!", but I think they all knew. Cause you can't hide your childhood flying dreams Through your fishbowl-wall transparencies And the clock tick-tocked. It was time to leave. I walked away from everyone and everything, And I thought when I left, that I couldn't come back. With that old household never home again. And then, when I ran toward the one-man-band, I began abandoning all my friends. [Aesop Rock] All dressed up, like a spider in a cup Entirely divided from his hub Addressing injuries commissioned by the Suffolk county brier When building coverage out of rubber tyres Or guns out of thumbs... Negotiated inter-stellar peace talks Mothership transmitting intel on the meatloaf Letras de cancionesUmmm... It's getting cold, sugar water getting warm Cruising to a future summer, suiting up for civil war How? All dressed up like a spider in a cup Hiding tiny butterflies inside his gut Having settled down, several thousand miles from his blood To climb and tirelessly high-dive into a sponge Space invaders through a paper Rita Hayworth Trying to tunnel 'till he ankle deep in pay-dirt Or halo deep in water... Glub glub... wondering if running Is considered by the people to be cowardly or cunning [Hook] (x2) Boom-er-oomerang, Boom-er-oomerang Boom-er-oomerang, Boom-er-oomerang [Kimya Dawson] I went east with a hole to fill in my chest. I went west with it filled: off to build a nest. I'm impressed. I'm depressed. I'm the best. I'm a mess. With a pretty little baby girl upon my breast. And next: progress, twist, turn, digress. Busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, never rest. I missed the rest as you might suspect, And I tried to fly, but my wings are wet. A kid in the woods, ducked down in the shrubs. Out of hiding just in time to greet the sun, So here I stand with my hand out cast aflame. I'm sorry that sometimes I'm so lame. I'm sorry that sometimes I'm a deadbeat friend. The worry makes me scurry into my own head. With my eyes on the rise, feet where it sets, Sentimental obstacles; of course it's me not them. [Aesop Rock] All dressed up, like a spider in a cup I'm four bald tires in the mud When it's diner food or bust Spiralling a sign of whats to come While pretending I am fine with what I've done I'm not, but homies that appreciate the crisis And treat 'em like they seen em with a second set of eyelids Ok, that wasn't fair, admittedly I wasn't there Long before I volunteered as unabashed, unaware How? All dressed up, like a spider in a cup Who never knew a silence so abrupt When the mileage in the middle, turn a siren to a hush First you hate it, then you love it, then you try it as a crutch Long Island was the hatchery, NYC the wetstone Sharpening the carving knives, foraging for breadcrumbs I headed west, planned to boomerang back Sidetracked by a trans-continental cage match [Hook] (x2) From Letras Mania