| printable copy of the lyrics to BLACK OUT ON WHITE NIGHT | |
| [it was too good to last he thought
might as well have been a dream he thought] |
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lights are out,
phones are dead, and I'm the only thing thats running in this city. except for the clouds, and they're coming down. if I knew my way around I wouldn't feel so dizz-ay. |
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where's telly?
nobody can tell me I don't speak a lick of that language and got a slippery memory if I spelled it all out on my arm only if but I didn't so I think get a grip kid deal with it |
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baby's waiting for a ring
won't settle for the substitute excuse that's forming I got a complicated case of escapism for her I try to rewire my nature to tired to wake her up |
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out of that artificial calm she was on
a drug induced future that slipped out of her palms seductive rain dancer she thinks I'm water proof like superman doesn't need a roof over his head |
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when I come home to roost
I need truth of holy men but I'm seeking salvation in a booth the phones are dead and the lights are out and I'm the only thing living in this ghost town except for the clouds and then they're coming down if I knew my way around by now I'd rebound for home |
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black out on white night in rome
black out on white night in rome |
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I know that I'm in love
but I know I'm out of touch and I know that I get dumb when I can sense something's up and then I bottom out european tale spins scrawling messages out on my pale skin in hopes they get mailed in |
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before the ink poisoning takes affect
and gets smugged because I bugged before I let paint set I get jugded by the ones who have shelter and rain checks while I trugged through the mud because this foreign terrain's wet |
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regain conciousness and lose common sense
the ominious dark skies that lie between me and providence are signs the obivous answer isn't standing on your face with stilletos on if you pop the question wrong |
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every song is a post after thought
I won't grab the chalk to outline my body of work toe tags get caught in my teeth 'cause my foot is in my mouth and the spurs are in the words so my tounge can't dismount |
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even after our rapport had fully run it's course
couldn't figure out the most heroic time to jump from the horse and place this old hat for the last time on a coat rack but I'd donate all my earnings from this race to know that |
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resisting urges to go back and get it later
like the milk wouldn't sour itself in the refridgerator a wet boy in a dry dry state on a old country road where tradition has a blind date |
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I make it dance on it's own grave tonight
with a change of direction by the pale moonlight and if it needs theme music i'll break out the bagpipes and play a tune that a ghost wrote me in a past life that goes like |
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black out on white night in rome |
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