And I see high jump kings with roadside stirrups on
When I come back to meet the bear, the sheets are gone
Take over the tombs
Dead lock the circus
Gawking throngs
Hijack the meditation train
We still belong
In Houston, in Oslo, the contracts, the con slow
And no sex and no sleep
It's hard toe
It's hard speak
And no shoes and no shawl
In high tents
The tribe stalls

And I see high jump kings with roadside stirrups on
When I come back to meet the bear, the sheets are gone
Take over the tombs
Dead lock the circus
Gawking throngs
Hijack the meditation train
We still belong
In Houston, in Oslo, the contents are read slow
And no scents and no seas
It's hard times
It's hard speak
And tongues crack and jaws fall
In high tents and I stall out

Then I'm already on the stairs
My hands are dry My legs are bare
My feet can't slip across the floor
Take on the door Take on the door
Six seas, five prints for Houston
Poor Mickey spits
Sidecars will put you in the grave
Slick sights, they treat you just the same
Each time, we hear another call
I want it less You want it more
Clowns take the bitter, bitter share
Sidestep the street Watch what she wears
I can't leave you here