Country bumpkin but these southern streets are like snow.
Not quite sure which way you’d like us to go.
Such flickering passion which shined down below but,
-this light might be arriving six hundred million years too slow.
We’ve danced like atmospheric pressure flicker, glow; only so..
..of the hearts, was one without telescope.
Who is gold, and who gets the blow?
Who is called, and then turns back into coal?
Candy girl, candy girl, I’m as lost as the crow..
..that didn’t feel the parasitic gimmick when the bow..
..that is this relationship untied, and shot through the chest
..river blood down the back of the planet flow.
Candy girl, candy girl, she’ll never let you grow.
I could show you precious stones, I could stitch your soul.
Mist your leaves until you come into the fold, finger prints
from the lover, in hands, hold the bowl.
Candy girl, candy girl, I’m lost in the…NO?
Snow like streets, southern 60 something degrees below, would you like us to go?
Mm, but below, shined passion, flicking like three million whole.
I have to cope with your image only through a telescope.
You did the blow, who was she?
Called, pressured you, but you couldn’t turn to diamond, little coal.
Candy girl, candy girl, she’ll never let you go.
So, let me.