"Ticking Fast" genre: Indie
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	Lyrics It's not a thing Like a table or chair It's not a ring But it's something you wear Sometimes outside, always in It's on your back Just like a fin A piece of lint Or a waxy moth An army sereant Or a gloomy goth It doesn't matter Where your head is at I can see that fin Sticking out your back What your holding Looks at least ten years away Give us a closer look Don't throw it in the bay Coz these things Come back to haunt you And they will Like a ghost on a staircase Smelling like a papermill It's got a name But it's not Harry or Bill It's not a flame But it can burn you still Sometimes white hot Sometimes blue This gowing shark That lives in you Paraffin apples Or Finnish pears You're walking backwards Down your throaty stairs To a place where You hope there's a net Just how deep Do you wanna get Well I've been there And I don't care What you think Maybe you should Just do the same And take some pressure Off your brain It's not a clock But it's ticking fast....

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