Songtext Death of a martian Red Hot Chili Peppers

Death of a martian

Text/Music: Anthony Kiedis, Michael Peter Balzary (Flea), John Frusciante, Chad Smith

Bear paws and rascal power
Watching us in your garage
Big girl you ate the neighbor
The nova is over
Wake up and play... ball radio
Make room for Clara's bare feet
The love of a Martian

Tick tock and waiting for the meteor
This clock is opening another door

Lots of love just keep it comin'
Making something out of nothin'
(These are the best that I)
I don't know how to say
Losin' what I love today
(These are the best that I)
Lots of love just keep it comin'
Making something out of nothin'
(These are the best that I)
I don't know what to say
Look at what I lost today
(And these are the things that I)

. . . . . . .

Blood flowers in the kitchen
Signing off and winding down
This Martian ends her mission
The nova is over
She caught the ball
By the mission bell
Chase lizards bark at donkeys
The love of a Martian

Let's bow our heads and let the trumpets blow
Our girl is gone God bless her little soul

Lots of love just keep it comin'
Making something out of nothin'
(These are the best that I)
I don't know how to say
Losin' what I love today
(These are the best that I)
Lots of love just keep it comin'
Making something out of nothin'
(These are the best that I)
I don't know what to say
Look at what I've lost today
(And these are the things that I)

[spoken]
She's got sword in case tho' this is not her lord incase
The one who can't afford to face her image is restored to grace
Disappeared, no trace, musky tears, suitcase.
The down turn brave little burncub bearcareless
Turnip snare rampages pitch color pages...
Down and out but not in Vegas disembarks and disengages... no loft
Sweet pink canary cages plummet pop dewskin fortitude
For the sniffing black noses that snort and allude
To dangling trinkets that mimic the dirt cough go drink its.
It's for you.
Blue battered naval town slip kisses delivered by duck muscles and bottlenosed grifters
Arrive in time to catch the late show. It's a beehive barrel race.
A shehive stare and chase wasted feature who tried and failed to reach her.
Embossed beneath a box in the closet that's lost.
The kind that you find when you mind your own mysteries.
Shiv sister to the quickness before it blisters into the newmorning milk blanket.
Your ilk is funny to the turnstyle touch bunny who's bouquet set a course for bloom without decay.
Get you broom and sweep the echoes of yesternights fallen freckles... away...