Hands are achy but I'm hanging in
Hear the camera's chorus hitting against
A drawer of letters, pictures, poems, and crafts
Across town two lovers tap their glasses
A system re-evolves strengths in size
Seven years again apologize
The Christmas season system bundles up its tiny blisters
Feels a tingle in its gut, a thirst to be sure
Every pop song tells you one of two things:
"It's gonna be alright" or "It's nothing at all"
The future runs the show
So how does the system learn to deal with now?
Limbs are curled up, I'm staying in
I like the pride of space, but then again
The floor is cluttered and the walls are bare
If I could clean my rudders I'd set sail
System crashes, human cries
System crashes human life
It's just easier not acknowledging information implied
Leave the outdated heart traff? behind
Every pop song tells you one of two things:
"It's gonna happen" or "It's just a dream!"
You just can't believe the sound in the air that sings
Just because you're in the air that doesn't mean you're flying, flying.