In tired atlases the doorman in pressed uniform
Outstretches his left hand to the ladies right
The rich waver in snare drum vibration as the
Will seekers unnerve the puppy parade behind door #42

And when with you, I wish to be away
And when far, I only wonder where you are
Peddling rose craning over dusty text books
See the light of the sun across the prodigal meadow

Around the peso saloon under a half smiling moon
Every man you pass can't help but whistle to salute you
There's no reason to fight
And there's no reason to whine
With you and this moon, there will never be enough time

We are the fortunate young running wild half interested
Ignorant and wanting the next death, ******, war
Laugh tract addicts and screen dragging junkies
Pushing social standings to the edge of digital ego insanity

When the sick die, they are released to the Earth
When they ****** die, they are released to their past
When the blessed die, they are released into eternity
When the rest die, they are released onto the back pages of newspapers

I look out through these eyes I have
Seeing the world through a perception tainted, beaten, and enriched
To seek change, is only natural, but in the end, futile
Escaping myself would be my ultimate creation