Ice Station Zebra

Hear me out, it ain't easy but I'll try to explain Everything in the world gets labeled and named A box, a rough definition, unavoidable Who picked the label doesn't want to be responsible Truth, you're the warden, here's the keys to the prison You create your own box, you don't have to listen To any of the label makers printing your obituary Here's an example If Joe Blow says "Yo, you paint like Caravaggio" You'll respond "No, that's an insult, Joe I live in a vacuum, I ain't coppin' no one" Listen up, son Everyone creating is a member of the family Passing down genes and ideas in harmony The players and the cynics might be thinking it's odd But if you rewind the tape, we're all copying God Copying God, copying God Copying God, copying God Add your own piece, but the puzzle is God's Paying interest on the bills of late But I just can't seem to remember the dates I lay low and turn off the lamps Come on over, you can lick the stamps And we could put together a portfolio And sing hallelujah in stereo If we find a baby, let her into the hold But keep the car running on molten gold We got fever and there ain't no cure, girl Take out insurance if you ain't too sure, girl We do things that lovers do well Never have to ever hear the rings of school bells Plaid jeans, no cellular phone All the time in the world, no twilight zone My time is mine and they know they can't get it J. B. told me you got to hit it and quit it I'm never gonna go where you want me to go 'Cause I got feelings that you just don't know And you can listen up if you want to hear And if you can't stand it, then (woah) right here The name of the tune is Cool Hand Luke 'Cause I got stripes on my pants and boots In prison you could learn a lesson From the analog to the hot box session Listen