Lyrics:

Bear paws and rascal power

Watching us in your garage

Big girl you ate the neighbor

The nova is over

Wake up and play

Balleradio

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

[Lookin'] 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 what to say

[Lookin'] 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...