| Way in overhead
|
| Caught off guard by the gutter
|
| Everybody’s spending his time
|
| Just building and making
|
| Someday someone will say, «For what?»
|
| Nine to five in a blind alley
|
| Equals three sheets to the wind
|
| Can’t remember when it started
|
| Don’t know where that it ends
|
| And there’s never a dull day
|
| When you’re beaten by nonfiction
|
| God still reads the headlines
|
| The front page hope is missing
|
| Working away on a rebuilt freeway
|
| Straight away from the slash and burn cities
|
| Hindsight is there
|
| On a road sign pointed nowhere
|
| No one gets off here
|
| No way to slow down
|
| There’s peace of mind somewhere
|
| For every someone that never thinks about it
|
| And there’s never a dull day
|
| When you’re beaten by nonfiction
|
| God still reads the headlines
|
| We’re all listening
|
| For every drop of sweat that it takes
|
| To speak out in wonder
|
| Never knowing how or when to duck next
|
| Just sitting here, punch drunk, all the wiser |