Portugal. The Man Lyrics

2. Gold Fronts

The sun bent down and spoke with the last of the lips 
They spoke of hell and things they knew they'd never miss 
Bridge shelter and the cold creek bed 
That breaks backs and leads eyes down 
Until faces drag against the dirt and ears living in that muddy sound 
Where the white whales roll just once a year 
And the arm feeds the hatchet with an African appetite 
Matched machetes sparkle shine 
And shape that small-scale guillotine 

I've been getting pretty sleeping in these boxes 
With those blackened mule faces outside my door 
Shouting 
Oooohhhhh 

The club met the seal and the seal met the dog 
That carried the man to the end of the trail 
Where they walked down the streets pavement 
Was black beneath their feet 
I have been having a little trouble with these black glass lungs 
And dealing in the man with the gold tooth grin

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Thanks to all visitors who contributed to these lyrics:

heiko martens