Seconds When It's Minutes Lyrics

On a fearsome afternoon,
there is a terminal direction
to all that follows from your question
(the faulty spirit versus the confession),

dodododo etc

'cause there's a version in the back of his head,
it's true.
With the speed he unlearns, you should learn to expect
the short-circuit of words with a studied dyslexia.
You should see through his second childhood
(he's put inside her an awful fire),

'cause there's a weakness at the base of his spine,
it's true.
And so why then desire to believe what he says when he says he's a liar?
If sunset is a wreck that recurs and makes a ghost of
the day, what more can you say?

There's a version in the back of your head.
To forfeit the years … is that where it leaves me?
With the split of your ears as a measure of history?
You come off unfilled, you come up as false, you don't
check your pulse.

Sure I got your closing joke, when you said sharp words
to my face and spoke: "are you trying to improve or
trying to prove by rethinking your thoughts till you
wear out the groove?"

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