| Some days I wake
|
| And I do look outside
|
| And don’t know what I see
|
| And think the dreams from where I’ve come
|
| Might be reality
|
| I stand and I do walk
|
| And I do look
|
| But I fall short of making sense
|
| And on days like this I…
|
| On days like this, I’m looking at billboards and machines
|
| And commercials on the screens
|
| When the pictures in the trains
|
| Playing games inside the brains of all the people
|
| Who oblige like ants
|
| To advertising syndicates
|
| I look at shit like this
|
| And I cannot make no sense of it
|
| Thinking about thinking about thinking about
|
| All the streets that never end
|
| Filled with cars and trucks and parking lots
|
| And fumes that fill my head
|
| And then my mind begins to hurt
|
| It beats inside of me
|
| I look and I do wonder
|
| But I cannot make no sense of it
|
| It drives me mad hearing all the mobiles that do ring
|
| Seeing kids with phones like dogs with bones
|
| Destruction these things bring
|
| And then I’m sure man must be mad to worship tools like this
|
| I think of better things
|
| And I cannot make no sense of it
|
| I was born in a land where natives they were shamed
|
| And today the government’s afraid to recognise the blame
|
| And deal with reconciliation that does stink
|
| I think of better things
|
| And I cannot make no sense of it
|
| I think of better things… |