The Small Boys - Spinning Top Lyrics

He spits on the street
His nails are black
There's no use trying
To bring him back
The frosty air
Clings to his skin
He doesn't feel it
It's all the same to him
From Vegas linen
To metal slats
From Michelin dinners
To plunging scraps
His kids are adults
His wife has died
What was her name?
He couldn't tell you if he tried
Inevitable
His fall from grace
Invisible
Without a trace
Those long winter nights
Consumed by the glow
Of his own worst enemy
Living down the rabbit hole
Who am I to make a judgement?
Pulsing colours hum with comfort
They flicker and dance like a flame
He stares for hours with his mouth agape
He's treading water with his bare feet
Another signature's a piece of debris
He had the world and then he lost it
His eyes are glued to the spinning top