A Hundred Light Years and Running

Day by day, the planet slips
Foils over my humanlike heart
On the alter of a couch, pig like skin
Food for the butchers and the auctioneers
Trade my fur, my balding top
How long must I block the medieval clock?
Tested hands beat me to a pulp
Wake up to insult, pat yourself on the back if it ain't broken
Symbiosis is noxious fumes from the womb to the tomb to the emergency room
I love this world, despite the world
Materialist locked inside of a room
What's history, but a name in the dust
Food for thought, so many years starving at us
This pyramid, this limping sphinx, this mosque
This man got flogged in Notre Dam but couldn't break his arms
The makers of napalm chant "we are the world"
Who am I now? A renegade gnome
European immigrant in a demilitarized zone
Lost my mind a couple of times, always get it back before I'm permanently gone
The highway tried to eat me and spit me out
The river around the mouth of the Mississippi, where Napoleon's forces wanting to buy me
Abraham keeps on saying "Don't sell, anywhere you turn, you're sure to burn."
"Sit in the chamber and wait for fire."
They'll remember, more than ember
But no one will save you from the jaws of the monster, and watch you suffer
Then grin like sand is flying over the ghetto
You've done your country well, here's a fifteen dollars and a bus ride home
A ticket to France, three cheers for the status quo
No foreign aid for the baddest poet
Watch the world decay, in 15 parts, the beast needs molotovs not disposable art...


The delusion is coming (all aboard Noah's Ark)
A hundred light years and running, the universe is shrinking
How do you feel when your meteor is crashing?
A hundred light years and running, everyone you know is on a tiny blue dot
Disappearing off into darkness... I'm still here


I'm might sell my soul, it's not even there
If I die young, I was never here
Got a message from god, he said no more messages
No end of the world, the end of suburbia, that's a guarantee
I got the logic to prove it
There's no coincidence only cruel randomness
In your dreams you're a newscaster on Fox
Or you're with Al Sadr saving hostages in Iraq
Or you're on the Hoover when the bomb goes off
Or you're gunned down and come back to life
All of the scenarios make you think "you've got empire guilt"
But you ain't Ramses, and when you return, they won't shower you with pansies
All they see is a skeleton poisoned by years of disappointment
Poisoned by books about revolution
And if you want signs, listen to your heart
About to explode inside your chest plate
Cuz you ain't seen life, in all of it's promises
All aboard the pale white tractor
Is that your voice, or is it an echo?