The Crest Songtext
von WHY?

Every little renaissance is echoed in the coliseum
Empty off the walls of tin pan alley
Till the space between the skin and shirt grows thin
Till the cells of flesh and material
Are indistinguishable under a microscope
Till all the water goes gas and the pot lids pop


After the day′s gone dark and the next chord's struck
Out of necessity
And they peel the paper from the walls
Or pick another color paint
And the next chord echoes like shrinking nickels
In a metal elevator, falling single file
Size order through the hole in your pocket
Landing round, a silhouette of the threat of silence
The lifespan of the flight path of a slowly sinking skimming stone
The dotted line of a moth′s dying mouth

The time spent between wave crests is what makes the crest a crest

I know the temptation to straighten the spines
Of men hunched from years of keeping nickels in their shirt pockets
To lift these woodmen from behind

And in one jerk snap every bone, disc and plate in place
Like adjusting some rusty segmented piece
Of an erector set from the 1950s
But the human spine is an iron rod and when
Bend meets time and heat to make straight
Then it's easier to fill front pockets with nickels
Than it is to make a cold metal supple

The lifespan of the flight path of a slowly sinking skimming stone
The dotted line of a moth's dying mouth
The time spent between wave crests is what makes the crest a crest