Foals in winter coats
White girls of the north
File past; one, five, and one
They are the fabled lambs
Of Sunday ham
The EHS norm
And they could float above the grass
In circles if they tried
A latent power I know they hide
To keep some hope alive
That a girl like I
Could ever try
Could ever try
So we just skirt the hallway sides
A phantom and a fly
Follow the lines
And wonder why
There's no connection
A week of rolling eyes
And cheap shots from the tribe
And we're off to Nemarca's porch again
Another afternoon
Of the goat-head tunes
And pilfered booze
We wander through her Momma's house
The milk from the window lights
Family portrait, circa '95
This is that foreign land
With the sprayed-on tans
And it all feels fine
Be it silk or slime
So, when they tap our Monday heads
To zombie-walk in our stead
This town seems hardly worth the time
And we'll no longer memorize or rhyme
Too far along in our crime
Stepping over what now towers to the sky
With no connection
Oh, oh-oh, oh-ohh
Oh, oh-oh, oh-ohh
Oh, oh-oh, oh-ohh
So, when they tap our Sunday heads
To zombie-walk in our stead
This town seems hardly worth the time
And we'll no longer memorize or rhyme
Too far along in our crime
Stepping over what now towers to the sky
With no connection
Oh, oh-oh, oh-ohh
Oh, oh-oh, oh-ohh, ohh
Oh, oh-oh, oh-ohh
Oh, oh-oh, oh-ohh, ohh
Oh, oh-oh, oh-ohh
Oh, oh-oh, oh-ohh, ohh