| On the train |
| Watchin' the rainbows peak, (thank you window seat) |
| I mean, it’s all the same to some |
| But that cityscape makes me numb |
| Walkin' the wire between firewater and water — I’ll take the tap |
| and still manage to end up thirsty the day the nursery collapsed |
| In my hand I hold the plumage of a buzzard |
| suffered for circlin' nutrition (seems barbaric) |
| I may have just saved your children |
| There’s an inborn tendancy tellin' me to grip that sickle |
| for the pirate tyrant breeds feed on your precious little pixels |
| I interviewed the sun, he said the future’s lookin' bright |
| I interviewed the rain, he claimed the sun’s truly an asshole |
| I’s supposed to interview the snow today but of course he flaked |
| So I let my frigid demeanor teeter and take his vacant place |
| We 3 sprout from the same litter |
| Yet amazingly crafted by seperate scissors |
| I sloth from off the beaten path splashed in the cretin blizzard |
| Half my time is herded towards little lost causes |
| Half my time is spent pluggin' these leaky faucets |
| An' I’m here to pose inquiries |
| I’m here to draw a fork in the road and call it the diary of common sheep |
| aspiring |
| Little Billy starlet up the block got the right premise |
| But can’t thread the needle without consultin' apprentice present. |
| Now I don’t really know you (I don’t) |
| But I dont' really care (I don’t) |
| Can’t judge a man’s dignity by the wattage in his stare |
| Maybe that deem’s be that vagabond you’d love to kill |
| But I really ain’t got time for the all the motherfucking guilt. |
| I’m gone tonight. You best believe I’m leavin' |
| Packing my belongings then it’s off into the evening |
| I haven’t exactly been embraced by the populace |
| Set sail upon the 7 deadly seas of the annonamous |
| I’m gone. Best believe I’m leavin' |
| Packing my belongings then it’s off into the evening |
| I’m diggin' a tunnel to where the sun will never shine |
| I got my book, I got my dream, I’ve got myself and I’ll be fine |
| (My time) is the day before the day the earth stood still |
| (My time) is the day before the soldiers fired at will |
| (My time) is the day before the hunter made his kill |
| My time’s the final mile before the valley meets the hill |
| And I’m an archer |
| Parked where the farmers barter appetites |
| Sweet-talkin' harrassment down to a mere flashing of badges |
| Prototypic landscapes chased every step of my well-oiled collective workforse |
| with frozen intention festive. Wait. |
| What about the captivated? |
| Well I am the product of skeleton dancers poised crooked scattered amidst blue |
| fields of firey bliss mixed |
| With disease applicant activist rattlers, fascinate grave child |
| Oh you’re expecting slave smiles after sticking the pin in limb and |
| God, if I could offer maintenance of fantasies I would |
| I’d place the button in the city square for everyone to push |
| You see my mission responsibilties range across the board |
| And still I’d rather be a pen than a sword |
| I swim a cold lake, and make no mistake: I was not ready |
| All edgy and out of shape, made the company look messy |
| (Sorry, well sorry) Honestly take it or leave it |
| Just let me know so I ain’t beggin' forgiveness thoughout the evening. |
| Basic locomotive with a whistle and caboose |
| Tryin’a pull my cargo 'cross the map without a boost |
| Fragile in more ways then 10 yet sturdy bird construction |
| Hope the smoke stacks puff into the morn, dream torn |
| I’m gone tonight, you best believe I’m leavin' |
| Packing my belongings then it’s off into the evening |
| I’ll knock upon every little door that comes about |
| I’ll sweep your porch if you can spare a couple of breadcrumbs and a couch. |
| I’m gone, best believe I’m leavin' |
| Packing my belongings then it’s off into the evening |
| This turning in my sleep is getting old and older still |
| I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, |
| I think I will. |