The Zolas - Escape Artist

My alter-ego. hes an escape artist Hes only truly happy when hes under arrest. Oh how he handsome scheduled to hang to death Hes only truly happy at the precipice. Hes like a mirror. he sticks into our ears A stethoscope to the chest of the vacant years. I cant escape the chair im etherized with fear That my only talent is in hanging here. But then its Hey boy ive got your man hes right here Putty in my hands Ice cream and sweets Coming in the sheets He got no excuse to leave. And in the real world an intertidal cave I ride a desk chair waiting for a tidal wave I feel like dancing but that is miles away Im feeling hard and hollow like paper mache. My alter ego. hes in a jailers cage He sits and waits for the devil to abet his escape. Im sorry pastor i cant be pasteurized. All of the bibles in the world for a metal file. At every clock strike he hears the jailers keys And the doubt starts to sprout til hes on his knees. But he is singing when the night is black oeall i am is whatever im aiming at And he remembers like its his mothers call To feel his hand find a grip at the top of the wall. And I want to feel it i want to feel the fire Of the leftover sun on the roofing tiles.