Maybe they just ran out of space when they
were carving all the things that would happen
today and tomorrow
Maybe it’s a breath, pause or sigh in our mind or
payback time for everything that we borrowed
Maybe it’s a baby crying for its mother and it
doesn’t understand the lightning or the thunder
Maybe it’s a cry of distress from our growing pains,
stretch mark freeways span across
our bloated bellies
Chorus
So many predictions
For twenty twelve
Let’s dig a bunker under the ground
And bury our heads
Let’s dig a bunker under the ground
And just play dead
Maybe the Greys will show up in our nightmares,
stealing sperm samples and eggs by the dozen
Maybe there’s a mutt incubating in the womb of
the women in the bed right next to you
Maybe there’s a storm of dust racing towards us
and the sun will black out like a locust swarm
Maybe someone stuck a pin in the socket
and the breaker tripped while they were
watching German porn
Chorus

KORREKTUREN ÃœBERMITTELN