Waxman

The Waxman's moving his shoulders He walks down reading the paper But the tar sticks, top of the feet Like a neighbor, he yells in the street And he's a dead palm, still on the beach But his hair's gone, a bottle of bleach In the water, the news was printed on his arm all along Sliding through the open air Hands are placed into the dirt Feeling 'round for something He is always there I'm getting closer, making my way to him Older, I'm much too young for him He can take my skin and replace The wax so he won't melt on down I'll give him all of my feelings If I'm dead now, it was worth seeing If he would let me live inside his mind for a while I'm sliding through the open air My hands are placed into the dirt I'm feeling 'round for something I am always there I'm sliding through the open air My hands are placed into the dirt Feeling 'round for something I am always there I am always there I am always there I am always there