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Untitled #12
JOHN FRUSCIANTE SONG
Performances
4
Released On
Niandra LaDes and Usually Just a T-Shirt
November 22, 1994 · Studio Album
Recorded On
June 1990 - April 1992
John's Home (8505 Hollywood Blvd.) · Los Angeles, CA
Lyrics
One, two

Blind your head in catastrophes, icicles
No one's fed in cycles led by cycles dead
Ask to shine the flag
Love is distance and blue sits like apples bite

And flows through our hands
I said "hi" to a man who shot his sister
Panned through the station
And jumped in front of a train

Said I'm a bit confused to meet you
Life's what scissors do to a day
So their smile paves the way
Sand drips with waves

And clouds my head 'cause I'm a fortune fellas bed
And I'm the tunes played by the goons
Who ride in fairy's wombs
And stole the road the other way

And sold tomorrow to yesterday
And I know the feeling of pushing you out of a building
Tiny people pulsating hit the sky
Still the ground got up and wiped your face

You expected to fly, wind up your misfortune
Sling 'em to a maître d'
Who wears dead butterflies on his face
And is hoping to grow wings

He really wants to tell you
"Hey, give your tears to today"
Grind yourself souvenirs under your stolen years
Hands in your pockets
Your hands getting numb, been hurt in grinds jive

Do the avenues that seem to meet defeat you?
Did you ever try to hug the sky behind your head?

I walked forever sightseeing a screen
Shuffled mean green ping dives
Head first into a hole in the water
Drive side to side like a floating machine

Dove dancing to a fable told to a sea of disintegration
Crawl to a celebration of dirt that leaves that taste of wine
Sucked from a hair that digs into the darkness
Full of the fair that my head rides

I slide your kind through a ladder
Hanging on a star
Stray close so far
Away from the climb

A tape like section of introspection
To rewind would be to recline
Hit the pounds underlying
Gently ride on the side

Tell your problems to zero
He's got nothing to hide