Well,
if this isn't what you ordered
We can always send
it back to the season
A robot for show
A different color, shape and color
The kind of bullets that sprout
marigolds and potatoes underground
And don't you breathe too deep in bed
They brought bacteria
from the old country
And it makes it hard to stand
But keep your smile, you'll walk again
I heard there's a healer
who'll come to town
And give a laying on of hands
Sit still, that's him coming now
The tin hood of the super sport
Can hardly keep in the sound
What a handsome case in tow
You'd expect a much older man
to possess such a throw
We can look some more in the morning
When the light is much better
by the holy radio fire
There must be something wrong
with these in struments
These stars live in families
but sing their exile songs
Funny map -shaped stomach moles
In the out line of the southern states
we used to call home
We're two kids brewed
out in the sun
We all know the familiar words
to the same Sunday songs
Nothin' simple but the call
The air that's free from
invisible radio fire
And in the evening when they go home
The bullfrogs sing their love songs
And the sun tea cools off
But if this isn't what you want
A simple shirt that looks just as fine
And the light adds the dark
Then we can look some more
In the morning,
when the light is much better
By the holy radio fire
There must be something wrong
With these instruments
These stars don't look familiar
These birds sing an exile
song
You