Masticated Outboard Motors

What is a city without lines?
 A forest floor with some children that don't work no more
 I am the bush that peeks through blinds
 Don't fall behind, rain makes the sheets
 For high-tide bakers who bake fancy cakes for magistrative sensitives
 And anyone who is for the disconnective gestures of the frontline blue blood pedlars
 Sign off, their mothers are boars
 Hold the lines, the ferries are sinking
 Set upon, wait, your face
 I fought the radar
 Isle of Paul, the backs are breakers
 Anyone you're thinking of?
 We come from cities
 We built the cities
 What is a charter without maids?
 While the beaches are cold
 Set the branches so they burn like gold
 And bold sensations for the broken home urchins
 Buy their shells, I thought about it
 Ferries and bowlers and maybe we're headed for the bottom
 Frozen lake, love and sons of divorce
 I feel my kind is beating blood upon night's door
 What for, dear?
 Tell me what for
 Hold the lines and blow your feathers
 Ripe for the birthing
 I fought the radar
 The city you live in is a magistrative nightmare
 Famous lakes
 We burnt the back seats
 Oh mastication, we hate the front lines