Letra de Falling Up - Will Wood

Your stratospheric fear of catastrophe’s near, fast it’s here

Atmosphere past your ears, fall but you’ll never land

Second star to the right

I’m gripping the grass, and I’m pulling up daisies

Thank matter for mass and the comfort of gravity

Airplane eclipses over spirals of math – would or could the impact kill me?

Yes, yes, yes, no, no, no, no, no

It’s just the high-noon moon saying “Shoot for the stars

Be the next big constellation, connect the dots between your parts”

Dandelion seeds yet to ride on the breeze

You make a wish upon the dead but turn and call it a weed

Only plastic flowers never die

With the bones of a crow and ambitions of candle wax

What do you know of control? The wind is simply at your back

It really seems pollen’s more clever than bees, so you cue the final words of Leary

And cry “Why, why, why? Why not? Why not? Why not?”

I’d rather be a hot air Hindenburg than an elephant tied right down to its stake

Cut ties, shed the dead weight

I ain’t saying it’s fate, but there are no mistakes, and

Dandelion seeds yet to ride on the breeze

You make a wish upon the dead but turn and call it a weed

Only plastic flowers never die

Well, I cry on

Skies of blue linoleum

Clouds o’ spilt milk, but am I the cup?

Here comes the sun, am I falling up?

Falling up

Here comes the sun, am I falling up?

Disney-Pixar Ludovico, Shirley Temple maraschino

Hotel rooms of Motley Crüe, Broadway producer improv troupes

Ray-Bans in your living room, eyeline hurts to be in view like

Stage fright only when it's karaoke night with friends, leave early

Did I earn this stupid hat? Is now really a good time for a new tattoo?

Oh, is now really a good time for a new tattoo?

The larger they are

The harder they tend to fall

Much larger than life cause from such height

Life looks awful small

And dandelions grow in dirt

Magic mushrooms grow in piles of bullshit

I grew up in suburbia

Love us or hate us, pick us, you’re killing us, and

Dandelion seeds yet to ride on the breeze

You make a wish upon the dead but turn and call it a weed

Only plastic flowers never die

Well, I cry on

Skies of blue linoleum

Clouds o’ spilt milk, but am I the cup?

Here comes the sun, am I falling up?

Falling up

Here comes the sun, am I falling up?

Falling up

Here comes the sun, am I falling up?

(Did I earn this stupid hat?)

(Is now really a good time for a new tattoo?)

(Oh, is now really a good time for a new tattoo?)

Your stratospheric fear of catastrophe’s near, fast it’s here

Atmosphere past your ears, fall but you’ll neverland

Second star to the right

And straight on ‘till you die

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