hot for a day, ok
sparks on a lid
lines in the clay

get yourself arrested, what’s the use?
they got cameras on the roof
if you want to see the truth
you’ve got to drop it from the roof

home and your omen’s good
rocks in the ark
bumps in the wood

shaken by a tremor on the calm
don’t know what to tell my mom
in a thousand years, if I’m
still in a coffin, drop the bomb

I caught my eyes on a brand new magazine

burn up in the sun’s false light
bright purple rays
clouds in a fight

you don’t have to travel far away
dodging bullets for a day
get in near to see it clear
you’re still another world away

wake up on a harp string’s thumb
play metal rings
bang on a drum

terrorize the party from within
you’ll be welcomed as a friend
then get caught up in some shit
that doesn’t matter in the end

I cut my eyes on a brand new magazine
don’t ask me where my mind has been