It is all fake sadness
Without cups, no sprite to collect the rains
We are an endless rolling fog
on the edge of the terrain.

We are foxes living in the suburbs
we are sneaky creatures not meant for fluorescent light-bulbs
and streetlamps
We are the oldest vulpines alive

I had been asked about symbology-- about flags and shapes and geometric plagues
I had to recollect the places in my head, London was a dime, Berlin was a teeter-totter
U.S.A was a great big long balloon snake

There wasn't anything left to say in the barbershop,
the razor blades dully buzzing,
no songs but the buzzing
of satellite radio

I got a removal done,
my deforested head could feel the wind caress it
I was a new and reemerged cocoon with a lacking self-confidence
I studied books and computers at Best Buy

You were a yet unknown quantity
you were god in the skies of San Ramon Valley High
Or perhaps the other prestige of some other village dream
You emerged and contained within the largest fib

Give me one good reason why
You deserve any more of god than the earth.