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Curt Kirkwood
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Box of Limes
This box of limes is burning cold
Come all these moonbeams, burning down my door
These dirty rhymes are on a roll
That's not what it seems
Crawling across your floor
Fading stars in the purple orange night
Growing dreams of roses blue and white
This toothpick, Baby, is burning wax
Pigs on a postcard are playing jacks
They play for nothing, no looking back
That's not what it seems
Crawling through the cracks
Fading stars in the purple orange night
Growing dreams of roses blue and white
This box of limes is burning cold
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Come all these moonbeams, further to be sold
These dirty rhymes are chewing glass
That's not what it seems
Coming over the pass
Fading stars in the purple orange night
Growing dreams of roses blue and white
Fading stars in the purple orange night
Growing dreams of roses blue and white
This box of limes is burning cold
This box of limes
This box of limes is burning cold
These dirty rhymes are chewing glass
That's not what it seems
Coming over the pass
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