odd valley, odd valley

I like John Lennon's glasses too

I brought them at a thrift store in some misty part of Houston

It was called the Leopard Lounge and everyone spoke in lisps

World red, blood red I tried to save him but I dropped them,

Lost them in the lake

Dubbing itself the north this was the deep south

And lurking behind his odd charm was something off

He gave me the tingles yet nothing was odd

Odd valley, odd valley

A girl with eyes in the center of her heart, finding ones that spoke not their tongue (my blood boiled, my blood boiled)

At last praised with a fraction of what she deserved, she sought them all

She knew not what she was worth, her porcelain tears

spoke a thousand words

Cold valley, I was cold

The appearance of an architect, skewed lips, an oddly familiar face

Yet it was the friend I found, one was mad and the other unreal.

She made me laugh like I hadn't since a child, where the sound simply left my stomach through soft snow fluff, snowboarding out after bingeing brooklyn-99

She kept listening to me and I thought, she must be mad,

And then there was the gazelle of Batsheba, he was unreal.

Pranced into the world jumped up jumped down, I of course didn't see; I had no face

A smile a notice his teeth pranced me up and woke me up

He threw his string it caught my skin, upon my skull he unfolded it said there was a cloud, he said there were others, he said that I was loved

Without eyes, I unvelied blubber, unveiled blubber

And now for my sight

My grip loose I lost my shades I slipped

Deep inside the lake I found floating many eyes, blindly feeling with my new skin some fingers placed them in my face,

One, by one, by one, by one

My nails red the fab four blasted, someone new, someone new

The psychopath was unveiled and the hill would fall

My nails made a slice above my chin by force, pulled out creaks and croaks from my throat

And that is how I got my face

Not found, but made.

I'm no longer cold, but I feel beatles crawling up my legs

As I enter the grand terrace of my geometrical class I say

Here comes the sun, do-(it)do-(it)-do (it)-do (it)

But little darkling, my mind is with the old fisher of Binghamton

On his wheelchair he found me interesting, said he'd like lunch.

This man he loved life, and when I look up

My hands shake, their eye's too bright but if I look up

Their hands reach and, in their eyes- an effervescent preach

beautiful Valley

I see you like John Lennon's glasses too

Here you go, they were yours