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letra de boomerang - the uncluded

[kimya dawson]
i spun and i stood, and i look back at the good
and i remembered seeing ghosts, and i remembered being tiny
i remembered always hiding with only flashlights lighting
had to pee when you found the best spot. bad timing
climbing a dogwood. barking, in bloom
sting singing on the ceiling of a blue bedroom
like a harlem-line summertime hootenanny barbecue:
screaming “i’m fine!”, but i think they all knew
cause you can’t hide your childhood flying dreams
through your fishbowl-wall transparencies
and the clock tick-tocked. it was time to leave
i walked away from everyone and everything
and i thought when i left, that i couldn’t come back
with that old household never home again
and then, when i ran toward the one-man-band
i began abandoning all my friends

[aesop rock]
all dressed up, like a spider in a cup
entirely divided from his hub
addressing injuries commissioned by the suffolk county brier
when building coverage out of rubber tires
or guns out of thumbs…
negotiated inter-stellar peace talks
mothership transmitting intel on the meatloaf
ummm… it’s getting cold, sugar water getting warm
cruising to a future summer, suiting up for civil war
how? all dressed up like a spider in a cup
hiding tiny b-tterflies inside his gut
having settled down, several thousand miles from his blood
to climb and tirelessly high-dive into a sponge
sp-ce invaders through a paper rita hayworth
trying to tunnel ’till he ankle deep in pay-dirt
or halo deep in water…
glub glub… wondering if running
is considered by the people to be cowardly or cunning

[hook] (x2)
boomer-oomerang, boomer-oomer-oomerang
boomer-oomerang, boomer-oomer-oomerang

[kimya dawson]
i went east with a hole to fill in my chest
i went west with it filled: off to build a nest
i’m impressed. i’m depressed. i’m the best. i’m a mess
with a pretty little baby girl upon my breast
and next: progress, twist, turn, digress
busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, never rest
i missed the rest as you might suspect
and i tried to fly, but my wings are wet
a kid in the woods, ducked down in the shrubs
out of hiding just in time to greet the sun
so here i stand with my hand out cast aflame
i’m sorry that sometimes i’m so lame
i’m sorry that sometimes i’m a deadbeat friend
the worry makes me scurry into my own head
with my eyes on the rise, feet where it sets
sentimental obstacles; of course it’s me not them

[aesop rock]
all dressed up, like a spider in a cup
i’m four bald tires in the mud
when it’s diner food or bust
spiralling a sign of whats to come
while pretending i am fine with what i’ve done
i’m not, but homies that appreciate the crisis
and treat ’em like they seen ’em with a second set of eyelids
ok, that wasn’t fair, admittedly i wasn’t there
long before i volunteered as unabashed, unaware
how? all dressed up, like a spider in a cup
who never knew a silence so abrupt
when the mileage in the middle, turn a siren to a hush
first you hate it, then you love it, then you try it as a crutch
long island was the hatchery, nyc the wetstone
sharpening the carving knives, foraging for breadcrumbs
i headed west, planned to boomerang back
sidetracked by a trans-continental cage match

[hook] (x2)

[outro: kimya dawson]
boomer-oomer-oomerang
boomer-oomer-oomerang
boomer-oomer-oomerang
boomer-oomer-oomerang

- the uncluded

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