The shins - The rifle's spiral

The Rifle's Spiral

Dead lungs command it.

You pour your life down the rifle's spiral

And show us you've earned it.

Cleric's fog will recede right before your eyes.

So long to this wretched form.

Them grey eyes on the subway

Long before you were born

You were always to be a dagger floating

Straight to their heart.

Listen, now, we won't tell anyone.

But you're gonna tell the world.

So life ain't then any fun.

Let your viscera unfurl

As you rise; rise from your burning fiat,

Go, go get my suitcase, would you?

You've thoroughly blown their minds.

And now I must have passage on the lines

To the veins from your heart.

You're not invisible, now.

You just don't exist.

Your mother must be so proud.

You sublimate yourself, granting us a wish.

Primitive mirror on the wall,

to fortify your grim resolve.

And made the glitz of a shopping mall

another grain of indigent salt for the sea.

Good night to these wretched forms

All them gray eyes on the subway

So long before you were born

you were always to be a dagger floating

straight to their heart.