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Blurred spectacle, ineffectual - let's call it romantic. On awakening I |
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look straight at the sun, I'm pinned to the corner like the class clown. |
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But once I get in front I'll let you drown like a cat. 'Til I'm dealt |
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that card the engine's on, I'm in the car. One suck on the pipe and I'll |
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be gone. I'm accountable. I'm responsible - you can call me pragmatic. |
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What took away the fame? Could it be built up again - the acclaim and |
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the constant eulogies for class clowns like me? But once I get in front |
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I'll terrorize all I want and the world won't turn... stops and stagnates... |
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disintegrates. This romantic dream keeps you in a cage... |
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Should I not fraternize with these angels I've loved? |
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But if I'm out of time I'll say my goodbyes and float downstream... |
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and have cynics witness me grow rotten at the seams... |
