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Correct Fox's Dream Of The Log Flume Lyrics
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mewithoutYou
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Correct Fox's Dream Of The Log Flume
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[Verse:] Provisionally "I", Practically alive, Mistook sign for signified. And so sins have often tried To run him off a cliff like Gadarene swine. Inside my word ropes and anchor bends, Wondering whether we were someone better then, Or maybe just better able to pretend— And what better means to our inevitable end? You know, I don't know if I know, Though some with certainty insist no certainty exists! Well I'm certain enough of this: In the past fourteen years there's only one girl I've kissed! [Chorus:] In the blistering heat of the Asbury pier, We sat quiet as monks on the ferris wheel. You're looking down at the wolves who are howling at the sea, I asked her, "You ever have that recurring fantasy? Where you push little kids from the tops of the rides?" Then she shook her head "no," I said "Oh, neither do I." And with grandma's ring, I went down on one knee, And the subsequent catastrophe has since haunted me (Like a fiberglass ghost Addled by my inconveniently selective memory). [Verse 2:] Provisionally "you" Mercifully withdrew All the bearing points we thought we knew. Days run, days set clock, Our compass shot, We sail waywardly on, Singing our midnight archer songs Until well past dawn. It's still dark on the deck of our boat, Haphazardly blown, Broken bows—our aimless arrow words don't mean a thing. So right now I think it's pretty obvious that there's no god. And there's definitely a god! [Chorus:] I dreamt of the rocks at the Asbury dune – That you jumped from the top of the log flume. And they gather like wolves on the boardwalk below: They're howling for answers no wolf can know. I charged at the waves with a glass in my hand, I was tossed like a ball at the bottle stand, And I landed besides your remains on the stones Where your cold fingers wrapped around my ankle bones. Maybe ten feet away was a star— Thousands of times the size of our sun— Exploding! like carny balloons you throw darts at. [Outro:] Slept until our chest was full Of yarn we'd spun from Shetland wool. Socks from where the Dorset grows, Sheared and scoured hours before the rooster crows. The price of German silver fell— Threw this huge tailors down the superstition well.
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