Letra de The Writer

Comfort is what we need, my babies
Listen and I'll show you how
The sidewalk's the carpet and the bushes are the walls
Through the skyless night, he covers his young
The coat blocks the cold wind whistling through
Where the sidewalk's the carpet, and the bushes are the walls
The moon's his lamp, and the world's his door
His eyes bleed salt crystal ice
And his hair deeply swooshing thinly sliced paper cuts
Where the sidewalk's the carpet and the bushes are the walls
The moon's his lamp and the world's his door
His young sleeping, firmly pinned between kneecaps and pockets
Dreams of days resembling life
Where the sidewalk's the carpet and the bushes are the walls
The moon's his lamp and the world's his door
Kneecaps and pockets, dreams of days resembling life
In the morning to the sound of world full news
Slapping porches, he arises with his feet attacked
Like chimerical worms, needles with teeth
He takes his young into his hand and folds it to a little square
And slips it in his socks
He puts it in his socks
(It fits into his sock?)
Oh yeah
He then walks away
With one foot tapping the pavement
And the other kicking up mulch
Kicking up mulch
Kicking up mulch
Kicking up mulch
Kicking up mulch
(The sidewalk's the carpet and the bushes are the walls)
Kicking up mulch
(The moon's his lamp and the world's his door)
Kicking up mulch
(Kneecaps and pockets, dreams of days)
Kicking up mulch
(Resembling life)
Kicking up mulch