Verse
Type-cast as a pull-string toy, I cut the hair, I'm always on, over and over and over and over and over again, the pleasure is mine,
Indivisible of loneliness I sling a string of questions, where you from, what's your occupation, have you finally found that special someone, who makes the bed, who steals them covers,
Chorus
Who cuts the barber's hair,
When the floor's been swept and the lights go out,
Verse
Half awake, half alone, once a heart that beat, now old and obsolete, a debate over it's existence takes place, every now and then,
A collection of little lies to keep the hinges oiled, tucked away safely in the top right corner drawer, right next to the thinning scissors, right above her crinkled old photo,
Chorus
Who cuts the barber's hair,
When the floors been swept and the lights go out,
Some still moment, she'll stop pretending and I'll be there, in the barber's chair,
I'll be there in the barber's chair,
Chorus
Who cuts the barber's hair,
When the floors been swept and the lights go out,
Some still moment she'll stop pretending and I'll be there, in the barber's chair
Raised on 60s rock, steeped in 90s Britpop ennui, and guided by contemporary neo-soul, Lee Walter Redding weaves dry humor
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