| The things we laid do not amount to much
|
| Made of abandoned wood, loose stones, and such
|
| This revolution, baby
|
| Proves who you work for lately
|
| Release the castaways who run amok
|
| From self-appointed winds which blow and such
|
| When present tense gets strangled in the mire
|
| Made of our cozy decomposing wires
|
| Who do you work for, baby?
|
| And does it work for you lately?
|
| But when the night is over and the walls start burning
|
| When fire starts to matter and the clock’s still churning
|
| Clichés and other chatter keeps our minds from learning
|
| Our minds keep learning
|
| It’s alright, it’s alright
|
| The things we laid do not amount to much
|
| Made up of thought balloons and cotton swabs
|
| When present tense gets strangled in the woes
|
| Made of our future foe scenarios
|
| This revolution, baby
|
| Proves who you work for maybe
|
| Who do you work for, baby?
|
| And does it work for you lately
|
| But when the night is over and the walls start linking
|
| When fire starts to matter and the clock’s still sinking
|
| Clichés and other chatter keeps our minds from thinking
|
| Our minds keep shrinking
|
| It’s alright, it’s alright
|
| It’s alright. |
| It’s alright
|
| That’s when it turned on me
|
| A motorcade of 'meant to be’s'
|
| Parades of beauty queens
|
| Where soft entwines make kindling
|
| These many detailed things
|
| Like broken nails and plastic rings
|
| Will win by keeping me
|
| From speaking to my new darling
|
| And there’s no way to know
|
| Our future foe scenarios
|
| That’s when it turned on me
|
| Where bobby pins held angel wings |