The Rifle’s Spiral - The Shins

Dead land’s collided.

You pour your life down the rifle’s spiral

And show us you’ve earned it.

Cleric’s fog will recede right before your eyes.

So long to this wretched form.

Down gray eyes on the subway.

Long before you were born

You were always to be a dagger floating

Straight to their heart.

Listen, now, we won’t tell anyone.

But you’re gonna tell the world.

So life ain’t then any fun.

May this rail unfurl.

As you rise; rise from your burning fiat,

Go, go get my suitcase, would you?

You’ve thoroughly blown their mind.

And now I must have passage on the lines

To the veins from your heart.

You’re not invisible, now.

You just don’t exist.

Your mother must be so proud.

You sublimate yourself, drowning us of rich.

Primitive mirror on the wall,

To fortify your grim resolve.

And made the glitz of a shopping mall

Another grain of indigent salt to the sea.

Go back to this wretched form

All them gray eyes on the subway

So long before you were born

You were always to be a dagger floating

Straight to their heart.