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Every little renaissance is echoed in the colosseumEmpty off the walls of Tin Pan Alley (alley)Til the space between the skin and shirt grows thinTil the cells of flesh and material Are indistinguishable under a microscopeTil all the water goes gas and the potholes popAfter the day's gone darkAnd the next chord's struck out of necessity (necessi-necessities x2)And they peel the paper from the wallsOr pick another color paintAnd the next chord echoes like shrinking nickelsIn a metal elevator falling single file size orderThrough the hole in your pocket landing roundA silhouette of the threat of silenceThe lifespan of the flight path of a slowly sinking skipping stoneThe dying light of the law's dying bellsThe timespan between wave crests is what makes the crest the crest(What)I know the temptation to straighten the spinesOf men hunched from years of keeping nickels in their shirt pockets To lift these wood men from the pinesAnd, in one jerk, snap every bone, disk, and plate in placeLetras de cancionesLike adjusting some rusty segmented piece of an erector set from the 1950sBut the human spine is an iron rod And, when bent, needs time and heat to make straightAnd it's easier to fill front pockets with nickelsThan it is to make a cold metal suppleThe lifespan of the flight path of a slowly sinking skipping stoneThe dying light of the law's dying bellsThe timespan between wave crests is what makes the crest the crest From Letras Mania