Nodding off at midnight for nothing at all but to get away from this place
A noise is a heard off in the distance as I begin to wince
At a pain that I can't ever seem to describe
The open road beckons every man, every soul, takes tolls
Lucid in the imagery of a fattened up bride to be
Making all that money to spend it
And then to dish it out for authority and lend it
Alone in this chip filled dish
Oh the memories of the morning wishing myself away from here
Picking up sticks, tossing them toward those river fish
Ridiculing myself in the mirror
Seeing nothing but another non-believer
Freak dashes left, as the others dash right
All running somewhere seems like the holy light
No situation in a room full of foreigners and nationalists
Attacking themselves for a high and mighty this and that
Tell me the way to live and I'll give it a try
But don't expect me to ever sign the dotted line
Holding in detention with bars that are lined with gold and books
I took a look and saw myself gleaming aside a bubbling brook
No this place ain't my home and neither is here
Maybe that's the way old Lear used to feel
Books are vanishing while I'm diminishing
Taking everything literally as the literary are building
That next big one just to be tossed up into the critical sun
Burning my mattress avoiding high stress
Bottles of burgundy line these dusty shelves
A wind is picking up far due south
Heading west to God's gaping mouth