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You could be the president and pop that, pop that |
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Enter the establihment and warn that, warn that |
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Take that, give it up |
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I was a young boy |
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From the suburbs |
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Playing with gun toys |
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In an old church |
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Question how I learned to see |
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Angels in the skies |
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Was it the calm voice |
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From the outskirts |
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Was it the clear voice |
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Through the whispers |
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Contemplative misery |
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Angelic demise |
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You could be the president, now pop that, pop that |
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Enter the establihment to warn that, warn that |
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Take that, give it up |
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It was a young day |
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In an old world |
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Digital Pompeii |
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(?) |
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Question how I learned to see |
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Beyond the disguise |
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You could be the president, now pop that, pop that |
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Enter the establihment to warn that, warn that |
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Take that, give it up |
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Presidential, presidential |
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Let's make this day complete |
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I rose to find the setting sun beneath my feet |
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And as I stepped beyond that stone and it stayed in its place |
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I felt a new warmth taking shape from deep in hidden space |
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I do not breathe the same |
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My chest is a cathedral |
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My ribcage frames stained glass |
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The story on each panel says new suns are rising fast |
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And my means have more precision and my needs are fueled by waste |
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And I'm channeling an alchemy that smells just like it tastes |
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And the depths that I am reaching are the heights that I've foreseen |
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And the people give to nature what was taken from the seed |
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And the children slowly gathered |
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None of them had ever seen |
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None of them haved dared imagine how their lives look from a dream |
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There's no other way around this |
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It's internal, buried deep |
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Beneath labyrinthine thought tunnels where the questions pile in heaps |
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Heaped upon that is a mystery, heaped upon that is a plan |
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Heaped upon that, the simplicity of a river through the land |
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And the cows around that river do not graze into the sea |
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They are inland bred and treasured through their own complicity |
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And the answers are apparent; difference is all the same |
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I'm a whale of deepest regions where the ocean floor's aflame |
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And the source of this great fire is internal; buried deep |
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The blood of stars configure in volcanic memory |
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They push beyond the surface, they push upward and out |
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From the depths of our great sorrows to the pucker of a mouth |
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Kiss, kiss, kiss |
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Another century |
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Kiss, kiss, kiss |
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Another year |
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Kiss, kiss, kiss |
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Another speech |
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He's kissed, kissed, kissed |
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To disappear |
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And we've kissed across a threshold to our present state of mind |
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Where our feelings fry from memories that rest behind the eye |
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And our dreams are deep polluted by such tragedies of wealth |
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And the fish forget they're swimming and their fins morph into tails |
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And the truth like evolution is evolving as it fails |
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To keep up with the demands of this modern space and sea |
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And the skyline of this city are the wills we used to be |
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And I feel these kids around me as I'm perched on sandy shore |
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And they're touching me and asking me if I'd like some water or if I'm already dead |
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So I open up my eye and I'm staring through an arid wind at a white whale's in the sky |
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And I notice how they are floating and I wonder if they see |
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Distant cousins in the world beneath where skies are very deep |
