In the midst of learning to walk,
I have stumbled across your message of flight.
Your lesson in soul on the Isle of Wight.
The poet has agreed to submit for the record,
A vision of technique inspired.
Dreams can be learned but the essence is wired.
Under prismatic hues and billows of smoke,
I've inhaled and exhaled listening close through the night:
A fish-eyed lens lying prone in delight.
May I sit at your table tonight?
In the mist of a suburban fog,
I have stumbled across a pawn-shop guitar.
My family and friends want a larger car.
The poet has agreed to slow it, know it,
Speed it up, slow it down, get it right.
A softly spoken stick o dynamite.
Underwater sunlight and music concrete,
Signs and saws and pulses arranged,
The master tricks himself into feeling deranged.
May I sit at your round table?
We sit around the table.
In the mess of a sunken, sullen, smoky downtown room...
Val Holler - Roundtable Lyrics
Val Holler - Roundtable Lyrics
We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
In the midst of learning to walk,
I have stumbled across your message of flight.
Your lesson in soul on the Isle of Wight.
The poet has agreed to submit for the record,
A vision of technique inspired.
Dreams can be learned but the essence is wired.
Under prismatic hues and billows of smoke,
I've inhaled and exhaled listening close through the night:
A fish-eyed lens lying prone in delight.
May I sit at your table tonight?
In the mist of a suburban fog,
I have stumbled across a pawn-shop guitar.
My family and friends want a larger car.
The poet has agreed to slow it, know it,
Speed it up, slow it down, get it right.
A softly spoken stick o dynamite.
Underwater sunlight and music concrete,
Signs and saws and pulses arranged,
The master tricks himself into feeling deranged.
May I sit at your round table?
We sit around the table.
In the mess of a sunken, sullen, smoky downtown room...
I have stumbled across your message of flight.
Your lesson in soul on the Isle of Wight.
The poet has agreed to submit for the record,
A vision of technique inspired.
Dreams can be learned but the essence is wired.
Under prismatic hues and billows of smoke,
I've inhaled and exhaled listening close through the night:
A fish-eyed lens lying prone in delight.
May I sit at your table tonight?
In the mist of a suburban fog,
I have stumbled across a pawn-shop guitar.
My family and friends want a larger car.
The poet has agreed to slow it, know it,
Speed it up, slow it down, get it right.
A softly spoken stick o dynamite.
Underwater sunlight and music concrete,
Signs and saws and pulses arranged,
The master tricks himself into feeling deranged.
May I sit at your round table?
We sit around the table.
In the mess of a sunken, sullen, smoky downtown room...
Writer: Chris Knudson
Copyright: Lyrics © Songtrust Ave
Copyright: Lyrics © Songtrust Ave