Turn the tides like you turn unwanted heads
Crystal eyes make everything better
Clear your mind of the dreaded hotel beds
She may crumble down like dust, don’t let her
Watch the paper cranes fall as you burn down
Taking over the once jejune city
Drowning in the tears of a washed up clown
It’s become a way of taking pity
So sit on down in that old, dusty, chair
And look right out the window, what it is
the people, they say with uniform care
Trust us, we are free, in this land of his
When you see a fork in the road, don’t pass
Look to the sun, and walk into the grass