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Was this a dream |
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I had Or is this for real? |
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Where did |
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I go from here |
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And how did it feel? |
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You only get one piece of time |
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And one space to take up ' |
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Cause on the day that you die |
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You don't have to wake up. |
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Nothing is quite like it seems |
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When you're living your life in a dream. |
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It's only lunchtime |
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Aw, but he's so tired. |
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And if he slips away |
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He will surely be fired. |
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So he keeps his heads in the clouds |
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Like it's some kind of pillow |
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And he blows from side to side |
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Like a weeping willow. |
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Nothing is quite like it seems |
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When you're living your life in a dream. |
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Sometimes you can't help but scream |
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When you wake up living a dream. |
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Spoken: One hundred years from now when our grandkids have all had sex, will they look back to the past and know what they've missed? |
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Will they think we had it better than the way they have it then? |
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Will they gaze at a strip mall where a field had once been? |
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Will they think they're born late like the way we now do it? |
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Or will they curse at the present and lend credence to it? |
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Will they hear all the old songs and think they're all true and hate all their own songs and everything new? |
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Well I'm here to tell you something that's known, from someone who's lived it from someone who's grown, the somebody who somebody once loaned a home to. |
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The grass is always greener, the past is always cleaner, the present is crap and everyone's meaner. |
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They say we're moving towards something but |
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I think we're moving from something. |
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There are some folks who are more apathetic and then there are some folks who are more money grubbin'. |
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Well, I know there's always been greed and green acres, and war and peace makers. |
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And then there's your takers and your leavers, your havers and your needers. |
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And in this great froth as we skim through the batter, there's now many more of the former and less of the latter. |
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Help us climb out of this pitfall disaster led by dynasties, charlatans, but not poetasters. |
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Where there is a mortal disconnect spawned by gluttonous connection, where you pick your own culture without viewer discretion. |
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Where there is no more history and nothing is learned. |
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Where you shun all your kin and all your bridges are burned. |
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Where you are what you buy and you're who what you own; and you think of yourself and you live all alone. |
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You make yourself feel fine when everything's wrong. |
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The world keeps turning but you're brittle as bone. |
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So to all you future dreamers and lovers and leavers, to all those who know there's still something between us that binds us and reminds us of times that passed, |
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I appreciate you listening to this one man's last gas. |
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In spite of all the words that we can't fit to song, |
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I'd thank you to take off your eye shades, please... sing along. |
