When All The Signs Are Swept To Sea
When there's bridges over bridges
No wonder there's no time
To let your grass grow
Yeah you know
We're all sinners in the innards so
You better race your boat along the beach
before there's no time left to reach
All the bitches and their kitsches
No wonder I don't know
Which way my hair grows
Yeah do you know
We're all skin heads in the innards so
You better pinch your nose and start to speak
Before there's no time left to peak
But I don't know
Which way to go
To get me to tomorrow
And I don't know
What pace to go
To make it to tomorrow
All the preachers and the teachers
All wonder and chastisement
While my doubt grows
Yeah you know
And winners must be grinners so
You better hope the chosen hold the key
When all the signs are swept to sea
But I don't know
Which way we'll go
When we get to tomorrow
No, I don't know
Which face should show
To get me to tomorrow
And I don't know
I never seem to know
So just stay close
And help me through tomorrow
