Paroles: Braid. Frankie Welfare Boy Age Five. Pipsqueak.

fixing up the broken door
a fresh collage of wood and oil
once a stately iron gate
pressure's on to renovate
too late

water makes the hinges swing
water hinges everything
i was once immovable
eager to stay comfortable
growing up getting tall
trust in not a thing at all
i was taught to never hate
but it's too late


i can taste it
not a drop is wasted
lets synchronize our watches baby
i'm afraid of the dark
when in pain you cry
from the most sensitive part of your eye


is this a come on? come on
shake me like a bad sun
till i'm cool