Hat in the Wind Songtext
von Themselves

Eyes open, I want to masturbate in a locked...
Eyes open, I want to masturbate in a locked...

Your lover is at yoga, breaking a sweat,
While you shoot mid-morning coffee nerved on the front steps.
Pouring its slave labor likelihood all over
Your wounded lung. everyone's allowed to have these thoughts.
After all, this is the song where you sing i am a drug addict for 8 bars.
It is a blessing to have rifle eyes in times of war.
One is lucky to go deaf over the course of one's life.
I love these legs.
In the speaking up and claiming of my projector,
It's a dancing fool moment happy taking the blame
For all my hammer marks and... dropped gavels... and eyes
Open, i want to masturbate in a locked planetarium.

I am a drug addict, i am a drug addict, i am a drug addict...
Iamadrugaddictiamadrugaddictiamadrugaddict...
I am a drug addict...


Sometimes you can still see dead-end signs in my eyes.
I'm still burning the bones of my strong arm over my mother.
Never unclenching to the spoiled little stone in my skull to a sober.
I feel as though I thaw all day, everyday.
Someone from second grade well into his last set of teeth,
Waiting for help...

Will you, will you stay if i promise you eggs and glue
And guns and birds and bread?
Will you stay if i promise you eggs and things and yes and yes and yes...

I met a beggar who says he was famous,
And nowadays he only tells two jokes.
One about eagles, weasels, and jet engines,
The other a terrible one about a left-handed match.
Says the only thing you need on the skids is a hat,
Says he'd also pissed away a million dollars in his day.
Nowadays when i want to feel like a millionaire,
I just walk into a bank...

So i stood in the bank, and started thinking...


While exact clocks spilled over into numbers of people,
Comfortably naming all 900 bones in their yesterday rhine.
Laughing in the face of so many black bags,
Luggage a natural melody to the fear poet.
I can admire the of an arrow all day,
But by no means am i one with smoking dust
In a Roxborough graveyard or painting wasp nests shut
For my slumlord in Cincinnati.
I'd rather run with piano open in my head,
Laughing with your hat in the wind...
Not at you...

I'm not laughing at you but with you
Hat in the wind