Out Of Print Testo

Page by page keeps turning, but you can't seem to read a single word
The night seems heavy of its yearning, for something that never spoke but only heard

Tell them it's the season or blame it on the matador
Force it on your auntie or a friend
But when it comes right down to it, nothing really seems to fit
You'll know it all the way down to the end

The name of the game is quite unfriendly, with lots of syllables not many vowels
It's important that you treat it very gently, for it often gets mistook for something fowl
Your spine has cracked and dried, watermarked and died
Wasted time, I know you thought you tried

Tell them it's the season or, blame it on the matador
Force it on your auntie or a friend
But when it comes right down to it, nothing really seems to fit
You'll know it all the way down to the end

Tell them what your burdens bore, the skeletons will wash ashore
Absolving you from all unholy sin
But when it came right down to it, nothing ever seemed to fit
You've known it all the way down to the end.