Masticated Outboard Motors

What is a city without lines?
A forest floor with some children that don't work no more
I am the bush that peeks through blinds
Don't fall behind, rain makes the sheets

For high-tide bakers who bake fancy cakes for magistrative sensitives
And anyone who is for the disconnective gestures of the frontline blue blood pedlars
Sign off, their mothers are boars

Hold the lines, the ferries are sinking
Set upon, wait, your face
I fought the radar
Isle of Paul, the backs are breakers
Anyone you're thinking of?
We come from cities
We built the cities

What is a charter without maids?
While the beaches are cold
Set the branches so they burn like gold
And bold sensations for the broken home urchins
Buy their shells, I thought about it

Ferries and bowlers and maybe we're headed for the bottom
Frozen lake, love and sons of divorce
I feel my kind is beating blood upon night's door
What for, dear?
Tell me what for

Hold the lines and blow your feathers
Ripe for the birthing
I fought the radar
The city you live in is a magistrative nightmare
Famous lakes
We burnt the back seats

Oh mastication, we hate the front lines