作曲 : Sohl/Smith/Kaye Oh I'll send you a telegram Oh I have some information for you Oh I'll send you a telegram Send it deep in the heart of you Deep in the heart of your brain is a lever Oh deep in the heart of your brain is a switch Oh deep in the heart of your flesh you are clever Oh honey you met your match in a ****** Deep in the heart of Deep in the heart of There will be no famine in my existence I merge with the people of the hills Oh people of Ethiopia Your opiate is the air that you breathe All those mint bushes around you Are the perfect thing for your system Aww clean clean it out You must rid yourself from these, these animal fixations You must release yourself From the thickening blackmail of elephantiasis You must divide the wheat from the rats You must turn around [and look oh God] When I see Brancusi His eyes searching out the infinite abstract spaces In the [radio]rude hands of sculptor Now gripped around the neck of a [duosonic] [I swear on your eyes no pretty words will sway me] Oh look at me aah cannot move ahh so much aahh everything I am possible Aah Feel so ****** up much too I know I know tell him to get out of here go down to the sea if he would just tell me he appreciates Brancusi's space the sculptor's mallet has been taken in place every time I see
作曲 : Sohl/Smith/Kaye Oh I'll send you a telegram Oh I have some information for you Oh I'll send you a telegram Send it deep in the heart of you Deep in the heart of your brain is a lever Oh deep in the heart of your brain is a switch Oh deep in the heart of your flesh you are clever Oh honey you met your match in a ****** Deep in the heart of Deep in the heart of There will be no famine in my existence I merge with the people of the hills Oh people of Ethiopia Your opiate is the air that you breathe All those mint bushes around you Are the perfect thing for your system Aww clean clean it out You must rid yourself from these, these animal fixations You must release yourself From the thickening blackmail of elephantiasis You must divide the wheat from the rats You must turn around [and look oh God] When I see Brancusi His eyes searching out the infinite abstract spaces In the [radio]rude hands of sculptor Now gripped around the neck of a [duosonic] [I swear on your eyes no pretty words will sway me] Oh look at me aah cannot move ahh so much aahh everything I am possible Aah Feel so ****** up much too I know I know tell him to get out of here go down to the sea if he would just tell me he appreciates Brancusi's space the sculptor's mallet has been taken in place every time I see
