Death Of A Martian lyrics
by Red Hot Chili Peppers
Bear paws and rascal power
Watching us in your garage
Big girl you ate the neighbor
The nova is over
Wake up and play
By the radio
Make room for Clara's bare feet
The love of a Martian
Tick tock and waiting for the meteor
This clock is opening another door
Lots of love just keep it comin'
Making something out of nothin'
These are the best that I
I don't know how to say
Losin' what I love today
These are the best that I
Lots of love just keep it comin'
Making something out of nothin'
These are the best that I
I don't know [what] to say
[Look at] what I lost today
And these are the things that I
Blood flowers in the kitchen
Signing off and winding down
This Martian ends her mission
The nova is over
She caught the ball
By the mission bell
Chase lizards bark at donkeys
The love of a Martian
Let's bow our head
And let the trumpets blow
Our girl is gone
God bless her little soul
Lots of love just keep it comin'
Making something out of nothin'
These are the best that I
I don't know how to say
Losin' what I love today
These are the best that I
Lots of love just keep it comin'
Making something out of nothin'
These are the best that I
I don't know how to say
[Look at] what I lost today
And these are the things that I
She's got a sword in case though this is not her lord in case the
one who can't afford to face her image is restored to grace.
Disappeared. No trace. Musky tears. Suitcase. The down turn brave
little burncub bearcareless turnip snare rampages pitch color
pages...down and out but not in Vegas. Disembarks and disengages.
No loft. Sweet pink canary cages plummet pop dewskin fortitude for
the sniffing black noses that snort and allude to dangling trinkets
that mimic the dirt cough go drink its. It's for you. Blue battered
naval town slip kisses delivered by duck muscles and bottlenosed
grifters arrive in time to catch the late show. It's a beehive
barrel race. A shehive stare and chase wasted feature who tried and
failed to reach her. Embossed beneath a box in the closet that's
lost. The kind that you find when you mind your own business. Shiv
sister to the quickness before it blisters into the newmorning milk
blanket. Your ilk is funny to the turnstyle touch bunny whose bouquet
set a course for bloom without decay. get your broom and sweep the
echoes of yesternights fallen freckles...away...
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