we hear the dealers with their words that ride the tails of their cigarette smoke sliding through the tunnels of our ears those greasy marionettes of real bone and blood stand on the corner of washington square vision stinging eyes blurring elevators got your rising so high 17 floors you want so much more elevators got you rising so high 17 floors you want so much more there's lightning on the ceiling coming from the corner of her eye... somewhere horses flee from thunder somewhere the bones of a cat are buried under a garden well ther's a radio on broken songs empty digression won't be ling to you and me are gone from here lightning on the ceiling coming from the corner of her eye
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