Gordon Paul

Let's travel under the floorboards.

Let's sing to the curtains.

We are all carpeted. we are all painted.

We're becoming the walls of this house, so let's burn down.

I am a window (i am a window).

I am transparent (i am transparent).

I am the air in which you are standing.

We are the lawn and we will exist when this house is gone.

But we're not scared, though we should be scared.

Our voices fill the house then out the windows and into the yard,

Where smoke and grass are holding our hands.

We're not alone in our interests inside the rooms that connect us.

We will become everything, we'll shatter as the doorball sings.

We can be everywhere just like the carpet in this house.

We're moved in and peeling the layers of skin we drag around.

Burning the kindling. the embers, they make a simple sound.

The stone walls are sweating and our friends are dancing in the dark.

The friction brings a reaction and this house was waiting for a spark