AJOUTER PAROLES
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Falling Up
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Will Wood
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Your stratospheric fear of catastrophe's near, fast it's here Atmosphere past your ears, fall but you'll never land Second star to the right I'm gripping the grass and I'm pulling up daisies Thank matter for mass and the comfort of gravity Airplane eclipses over spirals of math – would or could the impact kill me? Yes, yes, yes. No, no, no, no, no It's just the high-noon moon saying “shoot for the stars,” “Be the next big constellation, connect the dots between your parts.” Dandelion seeds yet to ride on the breeze You make a wish upon the dead but turn and call it a weed Only plastic flowers never die With the bones of a crow and ambitions of candle wax What do you know of control? The wind is simply at your back It really seems pollen's more clever than bees, so you cue the final words of Leary: And cry “Why, why, why? Why not? Why not? Why not?” I'd rather be a hot air Hindenburg than an elephant tied right down to its stake Cut ties, shed the dead weight I ain't saying it's fate, but there are no mistakes, and Dandelion seeds yet to ride on the breeze You make a wish upon the dead but turn and call it a weed Only plastic flowers never die. Well I cry on Skies of blue linoleum Clouds o' spilt milk, but am I the cup? Here comes the sun, am I falling up? Falling up. Here comes the sun, am I falling up? Disney-Pixar Ludovico, Shirley Temple maraschino Hotel rooms of Motley Crüe, Broadway producer improv troupes Ray-Bans in your living room, eyeline hurts to be in view like Stage fright only when its karaoke night with friends leave early Did I earn this stupid hat? Is now really a good time for a new tattoo? Oh, is now really a good time for a new tattoo? The larger they are The harder they tend to fall Much larger than life cause from such height Life looks awful small And dandelions grow in dirt Magic mushrooms grow in piles of bullshit I grew up in suburbia Love us or hate us, pick us you're killing us, and Dandelion seeds yet to ride on the breeze You make a wish upon the dead but turn and call it a weed Only plastic flowers never die. Well I cry on Skies of blue linoleum Clouds o' spilt milk, but am I the cup? Here comes the sun, am I falling up? Falling up Here comes the sun, am I falling up? (Did I earn this stupid hat?) (Is now really a good time for a new tattoo?) (Oh, is now really a good time for a new tattoo?) Your stratospheric fear of catastrophe's near, fast it's here Atmosphere past your ears, fall but you'll neverland Second star to the right And straight on ‘till you die
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