Push pins are the only thing keeping me awake now.
Constellations on my leg, glowing red, bleeding thin.
Row the boat to the golden shore and you'll find me bleeding like
a sun trapped inside a song for everyone.
Cut the ropes like you were born to chase the shadows for their skin
Drink the oil of turpentine, sleep beneath the spiring pines
Dreaming of a palace of the brine
My shiny little eyes they look at nothing, imagining the gilded
glass above me
Everybody's little kingdoms shine around them like
the palace of the brine.