| Up the hill past 694, at the stone wall make a left
|
| And I will see you soon my friend if these old directions still direct
|
| Is the problem that we can’t see or is it that the problem is beautiful to me?
|
| The birds of Virginia are flying within you
|
| And like background singers, they all come in threes
|
| Won’t soul music change
|
| Now that our souls have turned strange
|
| Once a day, twice a day…
|
| And when on and off collide
|
| We’ll set our souls aside and walk away
|
| We’ve been raised on replicas of fake and winding roads
|
| And day after day up on this beautiful stage
|
| We’ve been playing tambourine for minimum wage
|
| But we are real, I know we are real
|
| Repair is the dream of the broken thing
|
| Like a message broadcast on an overpass
|
| All my favorite singers couldn’t sing
|
| My ski vest has buttons like convenience store mirrors
|
| And they help me see, that everything in this room right now is a part of me
|
| Won’t soul music change
|
| Now that our souls have turned strange
|
| Once a day, twice a day…
|
| And when on and off collide
|
| We’ll set our souls aside and walk away
|
| Realizing is how it feels inside when it happens to you
|
| So I took a shot of sugar like snow dumped into the blood
|
| And children wander off into the ultra-economic
|
| But we are real I know we are real |