A thing to move is a thing to die for
With so many things
A man can get confused
With wars billowing human and black smoke
While everyone else is cheerin', makin' jokes
There once seemed that there was a dream
That I was given so hence thought about
A high note of praise from somewhere else far off
A broke hope revealing itself that we ain't up to *****
Hope touches itself in the night just to continue for the morning
And it will touch itself again
Maybe thats the only way to go on
Or maybe it isn't
Who is the pencil to say?
Who is the pencil at all?
Who is the question maker that begins and ends these things
That we call life and who are we?
Critical fat menus burn in the streets
Once we all realize we are apart of the disease
With crocodile torch rockets that spin from the minds of mad
And the sane play cricket just because it is a fun game
Can it be, O' Lord, that our time has come at last
Where the mercury music of lore is now finally past
For electronica
Is the music of the machine God
And we obsess over this music but some times
I couldn't believe it any less
Moving through this time of destitution and reforms and political
Fervor
I remember, or, I tell myself, myself, myself
That we are men and women underneath stars
That we were once underneath blankets
Crying for our mommies
I tell myself this
I tell myself
I tell myself