Letras
My window's full of bricks
That spoil sun and sound
My face pressed against the glass
See the dog catcher work the grounds
Run boy, run boy
Get lost before you're found
I can't eat another sirloin or chuck
They bring home from the pound
He lives on dotted lines
Drawn softly on your skin
Blood clean from the hands pressed in the sink
Tiny meats are ready, still box
Some nights I plan my escape
To islands with fourteen hour days
To islands hidden in some whitish haze
The beaches home to dead end strays
My window is full of bricks
That spoil sun and sound
My face pressed up against the glass
I see dog catchers all around
I see dog catchers all around
I see dog catchers all around
Run boy, run boy
Get lost before you're found
I cannot eat another friend or foe
They'll cut you at the pound
They'll cut you at the pound
They'll cut you at the pound