Gap in the Basket Songtext
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Now there's a gap and a space
Between the rusted guillotine blade
Named for the precise manner in which it washes sins away
They call it peace
Ironic, 'cause due to the neck with boy attached
Neither seeming too peaceful to be laid upon it
To the right wing of the machine stands a hooded figure
Draped in oil slicks and bloody rags
Bold symbols of his tenure
Between the rusted guillotine blade
Named for the precise manner in which it washes sins away
They call it peace
Ironic, 'cause due to the neck with boy attached
Neither seeming too peaceful to be laid upon it
To the right wing of the machine stands a hooded figure
Draped in oil slicks and bloody rags
Bold symbols of his tenure
Left hand upon his heart
The right upon the lever
The frightened boy looked up at him and asked him, ?What's the weather??
He said, ?It's sunny, it's cloudy
?It's raining somewhere else, another time
?And time is relative, you're born and then you die
?The only thing for certain is the blade
?And the basket
?And the gap between the two that tells the day of your passing?
And with that he read the requiem of the decree, crying,
?Remember all September because freedom isn't free?
The desert's dangerous when you attempt to leave your couches
That's the price you pay for throwing rocks at tanks in glass houses
Blade drops, heads roll
Somewhere a storm is born
Wings of butterflies have left their New Orleans in ruins
Basket takes the head
Circus folk return to watch their hobbies The sporadic acrobatics catching bones with just their bodies
The basket catches most everything and the ground gets what it missed
The pot, the piston's just a metaphor for the well in which you wish
Person after person, a rusty blade will get its fix
But still the basket holds the dirty laundry no one deals with
It doesn't empty, only expands
The numbers don't decrease
For the demand of death-related casualties on foreign land
Let's free Iraq-istan and all the lands we can't pronounce
Running after evil shadows with our baskets sticking out
Hands over our hearts, fingers interlocked and woven
Like a little basket holding all our discarded emotions
Don't blame peace for the death toll, guns for the rising crime
They're simply instruments, martyrs doing that which they're designed
Now everyone meets the guillotine
Only a matter of time
And time of course is relative
And relativity is in your mind
If you find the answers hard
And questions not worth asking
Perhaps you need to scratch your head
That's lying in the basket.
Blade drops, heads roll
Somewhere a storm is born
Wings of butterflies have left their New Orleans in ruins
Basket takes the head
Circus folk return to watch their hobbies
The sporadic acrobatics catching bones with just their bodies
The right upon the lever
The frightened boy looked up at him and asked him, ?What's the weather??
He said, ?It's sunny, it's cloudy
?It's raining somewhere else, another time
?And time is relative, you're born and then you die
?The only thing for certain is the blade
?And the basket
?And the gap between the two that tells the day of your passing?
And with that he read the requiem of the decree, crying,
?Remember all September because freedom isn't free?
The desert's dangerous when you attempt to leave your couches
That's the price you pay for throwing rocks at tanks in glass houses
Blade drops, heads roll
Somewhere a storm is born
Wings of butterflies have left their New Orleans in ruins
Basket takes the head
Circus folk return to watch their hobbies The sporadic acrobatics catching bones with just their bodies
The basket catches most everything and the ground gets what it missed
The pot, the piston's just a metaphor for the well in which you wish
Person after person, a rusty blade will get its fix
But still the basket holds the dirty laundry no one deals with
It doesn't empty, only expands
The numbers don't decrease
For the demand of death-related casualties on foreign land
Let's free Iraq-istan and all the lands we can't pronounce
Running after evil shadows with our baskets sticking out
Hands over our hearts, fingers interlocked and woven
Like a little basket holding all our discarded emotions
Don't blame peace for the death toll, guns for the rising crime
They're simply instruments, martyrs doing that which they're designed
Now everyone meets the guillotine
Only a matter of time
And time of course is relative
And relativity is in your mind
If you find the answers hard
And questions not worth asking
Perhaps you need to scratch your head
That's lying in the basket.
Blade drops, heads roll
Somewhere a storm is born
Wings of butterflies have left their New Orleans in ruins
Basket takes the head
Circus folk return to watch their hobbies
The sporadic acrobatics catching bones with just their bodies
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