Professionally manufactured CD in jewel case with complete lyrics and artwork.
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Birdie, what dark deeds will you allow? And what will shake the surface now? I am waiting for your beak. Fake rain leaks from old and rusty spouts and falls upon the dirty crowds, washing rouge right off their cheeks. And is this rainfall dyeing our red feathers white? Watch the Current, watch the pressure and the flashing Northern Lights. While the pipe smoke makes me nervous and Old Fashioneds make me fight over books, over dead cases wasted, over lashings and elections. Over cocktails I am sure the birds are right: Paradise is foggy.
"This light of mine, it'll blind the confined eye of anyone! These wings of mine can attach to the young spine of anyone!"
Well I've got a spinning wheel and I've got an open field and I've never made this deal so I can't decide if I need a hunting knife or I need a hundred-thousand eyes or an open line of sight to ask why you fly over evergreens and fly over movie screens and die in the second scene and lie to your wife so she leaves by the force of gravity and the force of the waves in the open seas. In the ports for the course of centuries, she can't believe her eyes.
The Current is as good as gold but silver is still shining brighter than the scalawag's face as he watches the birdies collecting deposits of niter. It's too noisy by projectors in the balcony to whisper in the ear of the flashing film's writer who is placing her blame on the scalawag who maintains the permanent flame in her lighter. The Current is as good as gold; the birdies all know that. The birdies have a secret too: Paradise is foggy. A trapper's got to set his trap and Paradise is foggy.
Did you ever see a body in the embers? Did the pressure drop too fast for your wife? Did you ever see a body in the embers melting snow? You got to know that she leaves by the force of gravity and the force of the waves in the open seas. In the ports for the course of centuries, wings attach to younger spines.