Knifethrowing

Got a claustrophobia
Got color TV
Got refrigeration
Got pain in my knees
I got two more people looking out for me
One is my mother
One is my beast
I'm not free
I'm not free

Feeling our wires
Fry out natural
Feeling our limbs
We lost in the war
I've got hallucinations I'm looking for
I'm still hungry
Hunting is a chore

Grabbing our muscles
And watching us die
A crowd of spectators
All throwing their knives
Everyone's laughing who would usually sigh
This is a painting, this is a life
Nearly mine

Loved ones gather
At our funeral jet
Killing the tarmac
With alcohol sweat
I've got a great old banjo I would usually fret
But it doesn't seem appropriate now

Down in the season
We lay by the lake
Loving our movement
Feeling the quake
It's far too long since we were really awake
Your company's fine
But I want something to take