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Panic At The Disco Pretty. Odd. Behind The Sea Our daydream spills from my gold head Breaks free of my wooden neck Left a nod over sleeping waves Like bobbing bait for bathing cod Floating flocks of candle swans Slowly drift across wax ponds The men all played along to marching drums And boy did they have fun behind the sea They sang, “so our matching legs are marching clocks And we’re all too small to talk to god Yes, we’re all too smart to talk to god" Toast the fine folks casting silver crumbs To us from the dock. Jinxed things ringing as they leak Through tiny cracks in the boardwalk. Scarecrow now it’s time to hatch Sprouting sons and ageless daughters. Those watermelon smiles just can’t ripen underwater Just can’t ripen underwater The men all played along to marching drums And boy did they have fun behind the sea They sang, “so our matching legs are marching clocks And we’re all too small to talk to god Yeah, we’re all too smart to talk to god Oh, we’re all too smart to talk to god" |
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