Rider - William Patrick Corgan

Call me rider, call me anything

Call me what you like

There’s no good names for soul

'Cause you know me

Sycamore spit-twine

These knotted boughs must write

Of each injustice

Every solstice in white

We slung tobacci beyond our rising rot-mines

As trinkets get loosed us

Canaries will trill on sing-song

New paragons

There’s some place I’d once belonged

But straight from the heart I’ve wrought

Not one speck of proof

So dead punks traipse your streets

Not a ghoul has your heat

And straight from this heart I’ll beat

My wings over you

'Cause you know me

Rider, I’ve got soul

Call me rider, call me anyone

Spell me what you like

There’s no good cause I’m told

'Cause you know me

Happenstance twins brine

And dread, besotted, clementine

Oh, mighty father drippin' U.S. blue

Whence stiff religion rose up every roof

With hindsight

So laughs the lancer who forgot how to ride

Ponies freed as tresses flee

Nouveau salons writ, continental spree

But straight from this heart I wheeze

No guarantees

Just two twigs from a tree of life

Gives one pause to take a wife

Yet straight from this heart I’d lie

Just to tell you the truth

'Cause you know me

Rider, I’ve got soul

'Cause you know me

Rider, I’ve got soul