A flash flood in a plastic egg

This is the obvious boy hitting

I saw a man hop a barb-wire fence with a baby under his arm

A matress on the sidewalk next to a bike chained to a tree

Earthsick earthsick earthsick earthsick earthsick earthsick

(x4)

One out of three says I'm a lie

One out of three says I'm alive

(x2)

And the other third can't even say hi

And that's just a third of the time

"I haven't yet written the scene's that make up my movie."

I'm american brood, 21st century fair

Mad rat, the latch, and fame of he in that flown maze

He shakes still coffee at the probable cigarette

This here is a banger for the lonely, my age, and in therapy

(Bang) Life grows in a cut

(And bang) But it's a sunny rut

(x7)

(Bang)

I don't care who thinks that it was them

T'was money made the light bulb stem

The final marble of math

Does not go further than the loaf of bread

Wage

That's why I write lines for space

In zero denial

Come on tax-man repo this!

A twenty odd year young man washes his hands

He drew a line in the sand a foot from the water and said

"Free trips from here to the ocean: 5 cents,"

Then he threw up a stand, and made a few million clams

Until a whale beeched at his feet

Then he judged and he quit and he walked

Buck-naked, back to the pert city

Where he then bent a railing around his throat for protection

See, what I was trying to explain was

The way a boy on a bike floats across a busy intersection

And all the world knowing that he's only late for dinner

And all that balance unfurling across the sockets in his skeleton

He's not the million parts soapy water of a bubble;

Not the nine-hundreth percentile

I saw a woman still reading Hamlet to her murmering baby

Although I wouldn't know

We were all watching a 64-inch screen play black;

No one's plane had arrived yet

I overhear two dying men with a lead whisper say

That there on the TV there? That's footage from the afterlife

Live streamed straight over the child pipe

Wrists reeking of cut glass

It's the digital... Cut

It's the well water black of a digital clock

(It's the well water black of a digital clock)

(x8)

It's what happens

(x4)

The first lie is that you are unique in a remote way

Natural peace child

Squeezing the earth around it's skin shedding fist

As soon as the stick came off the sand

They knew that there was that magnetic something to the number seven