|
A stand, a wall, a fiat in us all |
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Something that will take away |
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This nonsense soon, one of these days |
|
The demand, the call, it will come soon I can hear us all |
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Talking one day about the ones that we love instead of |
|
Hanging around waiting for signs from above |
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Hey, hey I too want change, I'm not talking about faith, I will pay |
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For evidence of the numbness and pain |
|
Of anyone with guns, the money or the planes |
|
I hear you saying I am just one kid, that we can't do what one thousand once did |
|
But let me leave you with this simple idea |
|
and maybe one of you might run with it for real |
|
On that day will we be original spies? |
|
Through dusty Lucite will the sun still rise? |
|
Will strange new days, striated with strain contain your relocated slang and those incredible eyes? |
|
Truant treasures come from zealots sounding, Jensens pounding |
|
By way of last year's sonic stencils |
|
We are working it out, if only with pencils, but |
|
Underneath the same, same skies as those ones pushing the same, same lies, so |
|
Grab a pen, turn of the CNN |
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And scratch me out some plans to get together again |
|
In that way will we be original spies? |
|
With trusty foresight will the sun still rise? |
|
Will strained new days, saturated with strange contain your relocated slang and those incredible eyes? |
|
Hey, hey I too want change, I'm not talking about faith, I will pay |
|
For evidence of the numbness and pain |
|
Of anyone with guns, the money or the planes |
|
I hear you saying I am just one kid, that we can't do what one thousand once did |
|
But let me leave you with this simple idea |
|
and maybe one of you might run with it for real |
|
On that day will we be original spies? |
|
Through dusty Lucite will the sun still rise? |
|
Will strange new days, striated with strain contain your relocated slang and those incredible eyes? |
