It's them

With their baby feet, hummingbirds and milky ways

It's them

Horde your sea shells and blow out the big wick

It's them, it's them, it's them

No not your vitamins, or pillow or monocle

This one's just righteousness, half full and logical

Mean well remote absolute and nowhere to go

But onward and upward

Clasp crowns ground the heart

Let transmission commence, hello, goodbye dark

Really I wonder, is this all material?

Really I wonder, is this all material?

Really I wonder, is this all material?

Really I wonder, is this all material?

Really I wonder, is this all material?

This can't be heaven, the light is so dull

The first time I spoke must have been wonderful

It doesn't look like an ice sculpture... (it really doesn't from here) ...or does it?

If I really paid attention, time would move faster and faster

Landscapes and states of nature would gallop and sink before me

'til all was still as an orchid, one instant

One rich white bursting orchid

Stood in channels and the rivers deep below beauty

Grimace, flee

Souls don't need shelter

Grimace, flee

Souls don't need shelter

Grimace, flee

Souls don't need shelter

Native well knowledge radiating through shone

What's scared smell sight

A swimming prism's gray core

Which one will erect a definition

For sheer bliss and set its semblance sincere and object with pride down gently

Before a globe of judge and grudge in open forum

I think...

No one, hundreds of thousands of chattering silver-faced monkeys screech

And find them fascinating

Although nowhere to be found on the periphery of

Some generation, huh?

I'm not familiar with the term

Boiled to a crack, happy now...

Who'll be bird in hand

I've been mutilated trying

Teaching myself preference, technique and acceptability

It seems your son is of consumed

Boiled to a crack

What do you mean there's no oar?

All the rations?

Sound the alarm, there must be a stowaway

What do you mean there's no oar?

All the rations?

Sound the alarm, there must be a stowaway

A drip, bore, a crack and a trickle

Soon the hull gathered its body

And they all drown to meet with a grin, stick and handkerchief

Amid the flowering dust of the crossroads

Don't peter out on me now (don't you do it)

Thrust your fist into the sunset

Texture within the footprints and an end atop the wind

I feel... leaflike, something something to crawl on

Sunlit, small, a wren beneath the soil presence beyond walls

Art is everywhere, I refuse to know where

I wonder to know where art is

Everywhere I wander to know where art is Everywhere I wander

Next time I'm bored, the man's going down (he's going down)

I'll stomp on anyone's brown bag and lunch when they're not looking (turn around)

It's not actually bad rap, I just don't feel it

Pshh, there, I said it

Next time I'm bored, the man's going down (he's going down)

I'll stomp on anyone's brown bag and lunch when they're not looking (turn around)

It's not actually bad rap, I just don't feel it

Phew, there, I said it

It's them

With their tree stumps, cat litter and clay masks

It's them

Finish your last thought and man the battle packs

It's them, it's them, it's them

Oh, don't say (help)

She's crying in her salve of scary monsters don't exist

And blood and guts and little broken bits of love

Just don't say it

All gather as the greatness in her glory days and softened lovely rays

Can't hold back and pour, please don't

She wails for (help)

Orants in pain, pity the stick figures are bold proud faint

Fainter, trapped on paper

Drawn to where babies come from, we think

Can't figure out the gist of setting a precedent since shucks

The sacrosanct and such

Has ran and hid inhibited shocked and implanted

In limited, prohibited, it's (it's them)

Them

It's all a game, the fair and right has petered out

Production was always paramount

And what have we done to deserve this

(Why, evolve, of course)

Fruit pickers learned to herd

And now the butcher's got mechanical pencils

Just leave the children

Stab, process, preserve, pack

Anything but the children

Tear, portion, chop, shelf

They spared no one

We're giving selves to records for the tots and toddlers

Not to gorge our fantasies and super-human fetishes

If you give the strangers baby toys

The entertainment and enjoyment they receive

Will read and write and return itself tenfold

To watch your kids and clothe your loved ones

In a crystal ball of faith

Renewed and fertile bed

Help! Someone page the god

Help! Is there a poet in the house?

Help! I'm afraid we'll have to innovate

Help! I can't bring her back to life alone

And there, between the timid yellow voice of my candle

And the space in my little notebook she left this form

And I saw her dust in the light's angles and heard:

"You there, young man

My metamorphosis, your efforts

That's all natural; just learn from virtues

Keep them, perpetuate your fortune

In both worlds, give and give and give

There's nothing wrong with gardens

And in everyone's preserve, truth is truth

Both perfect and realistic

You know when energy is flowing

Smile, teach yourself to write, and let them buy the album

Thanks for the help"