| Throw the phone hard at the wall |
| And at once my muscles stall |
| Slowly my mind cools and calms |
| Decompressed and disengaged |
| I put my pen to virgin page |
| With each scratch I’m hauled away |
| Through the slowest country dance |
| To not knowing in advance |
| Every impending detail |
| So exploding with the news |
| Cages rattled, looks confused |
| Seems I might have gone too far |
| My front door lies in splinters |
| And barefoot in the winter |
| My prayers are unsuccessful |
| To a god that I can recall |
| I could learn |
| I could learn |
| I could learn to keep my mouth shut |
| I might learn |
| I might learn |
| I might learn to keep my mouth shut |
| There’s a pause before the howl |
| And I’m well past feral now |
| Liberated and joyous |
| Curtains open, necks are craned |
| Shady heads in burnt wood frames |
| Then the rumble from within |
| The insanity is catching |
| As out of doors like hatchlings |
| The people leave their houses |
| In barely more than blouses |
| This is fun |
| This is fun |
| It’s the most fun I remember. |
| This is fun |
| This is fun |
| It’s the most fun I remember. |
| (It's the fight |
| It’s the fight |
| It’s the fight that we are winning) x4 |