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​Mustard

This song is by The Saints and appears on the album Everybody Knows The Monkey (1998).

Sleeping through another Sunday
A lost weekend
Approaching Monday
Accosted by a debutante
Offering more than I could want
Senses leaving snail trails heaving up the debris of the night before
Crush my skull with feather weight poems
I know but I'm not sure

From out of nowhere I'm stuck in traffic
Life is a gas station and I'm on empty
Brush my teeth with wire wool
And worry about my inclinations
Someone takes a toke of toxic
Television screams off the wall
Fading in the next drink
I think but I'm not too sure

And it looks like mustard
Smells like mustard
Feels a lot like glue
It looks like mustard
Burns like mustard
Comes on just like you

Standing idly on the corner
Disheveled and out of order
Reveling in faded glory
I get told another story
Senses leaving snail trails heaving up the debris of the night before
Crush my skull with feather weight poems
I know but I'm not sure

And it tastes like mustard
Smells like mustard
Feels a lot like glue
Looks like mustard
Burns like mustard
Comes on just like you