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Clap hands for stained ideas,
There’s many a carpenter turning wheels,
Turning the wheels.
But will they carve out anything real?
Will I carve out a stained idea?
Oh look at the crowd, they’re slumbering.
Three minutes is three minutes in…
Time means nothing when you’re in embrace,
Move over your place is vacant and displaced,
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You’ve left no trace.
So lets take this time, all we’ve got is this time,
We are furious and bold,
The time keeps ticking, seems it’s moving counter clockwise,
I think I’m getting old.
Move in close, feel your heart beating with the pulse.
Carpenter’s hands calloused , coarse, beating with the pulse
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Carpenter lyrics @ elyricsworld.com
