And so I firmly grab the handlebar and pull myself in
As I'm accelerating towards the apex of my ascent
In an attempt to thwart the tyranny of present pretense
Would it be possible to make transpire prior events?
The Karma Camel thinks that you can
The Marlboro Michelin man
Addendum to the rest of the verse
The best and the worst have both recessed to the hearse
And I'm dead in the middle of the little bus to downtown
And so I try to make my way through to the front of the crowd
As I'm defiling society, I wonder aloud
If you can take a piece of history and change it around
Would it be evident that something else had ever gone down?
The Karma Camel thinks that it might
The backdrop of the star-studded night
Enveloping the carpet of red
Continue ahead to reach my trough of a bed
I'm alive in the middle of the little bus to downtown
I'm alive on the surface till I return by drill
Underground
The silent sound
Plays over and over
Right round
Like a record of the past imprinted into a stone
Perdurable but for the fact that it will shatter when thrown
From off the highest of the hills and into somebody's home
Until they rearrange the pieces, making it read as though
I'm alone in the middle of the little bus to downtown
I'm alone on the surface till I return by drill underground