The bricks get laid,

and they get torn up,

and laid again,

but the bricks always get torn up again.



Your friends won't wait,

so don't believe that shit,

when they say they'll wait.

Trust me; your friends will not wait for you.

Then you'll be stoned in some park,

just nodding your head and pinching your arms,

when a girl walks along.

She's humming your song,

with your t-shirt on.

That's when you're done,

Oh, that's when you're done...



There's a cotton crush

down in the southern states.

But back up here, man, we've got

so much thread and space

to waste, waste, waste.



There's a microphone

picking every word up

and it shuts itself off

when it's sure that's its heard enough.....



The quiet can scrape

all the calm from your bones,

but maybe it should.

Maybe we need to be hollowed

to get up and grow,

and stop fucking around,

to kick off our braces and start straightening out.

Let's sift through the static

to find a simpler sound

Let's sift through the static

to find a simpler sound...

simpler sound than the shit that's clouding our heads now