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Church, The Remote Luxury Maybe These Boys... Framed up baby, know her place Slippery salmon all over her face Browsing down through the mirrored hall See arizona standing ten feet tall Her father's smart, plays his part Twirls his star and watch them start Oh no no don't wander off the set We haven't reached the borders yet Then into town he rides in grim All the mercenaries are following him Ripped and raw, lays his glove on the door Walks in and tells the man on the floor Maybe these boys want to do some talking Your room's a mess, it's ugliness But i go on living in it till you say yes The curtains are new, but the windows are old All the stories passing through already been told We live in a style where trust is a drag To hold up your end means the middle will sag Some blackhearted actors interfered in your scene And you can't stand success or the place where it's been The fader's been placed, judgment passed down Staying up all night till pure sleep drags you down Ripped and raw, her voice at the door Walks in, expecting him, finds something more Says maybe these boys want to do some talking |
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