Texty: Mountain Goats, The. Ethiopians.

Window mounted air conditioning unit,

Humming like a hive.

We want to send postcards to the friends we used to have,

Rub their noses in the ugly fact that we are still alive,

And we play,

Lovers reggae,

On accordian and banjo,

When the moon is high.

And we lie on the floor,

Get suspicious of the people

Who've just moved in next door.



The bad taste in our mouths,

The twinkle in your eye

Good things never last

Bad things never die.



Wind chime from Tahiti that we found down at the auction,

Tolls its minor chord.

And i can't think of one thing in this whole wide blessed world,

That's more dangerous and frightening,

Than you when you get bored.

And we go though,

Scads of money.

Don't know where it comes from,

Don't know where it goes.

And we stare, out the window

See the poison flowers the neighbours grow,

Sprouting up in nice neat rows.



The swelling in our limbs,

The twinkle in your eye,

Good things never last,

Bad things never die.