In this room
Where ageless wept
I never felt so worthless and direct
On this street
Two masts attempt
And I never felt so worthless and direct
We got lost in the hills
With fog lights on
Dressed in discomfort, cursing, harrowed and suspect
But there was room
For harking on
Words out an open window, worthless and direct
Light breaks out on inertia!
I'm in the catskills
And an attack in the foothills
Brings me to a standstill
'But that's the way the creature thinks!...'
Is this injury within my head?
Sick of denial and amending plenary
I hid my doubts in you, and grinned instead
But I was afraid that you weren't of this century!
I am Bob Brantley
Derision attacks me
A private soliloquy
No more to distill
I can't keep my head still
Misinterprets the signal
If you could see
That I'm not boring now
There was a violence in how you spoke
No underlying empathy to detect
You do not possess her; it's not a joke
To say that it's complimenting, worthless and direct
You don't know my surname
I can't remember what was said or who to blame
I don't suppose that we know
Anything
Your father brought flowers
Your mother tended to as we whiled away the hours
And i cannot imagine being
So contrived
Oh our liberty is better than yours, and you cannot join us, ogre!
But sympathy's odour compels us,
And strange as it is, I would do anything
I know that it seems false but I would do anything
I know that it seems false but I would do anything
I know that it seems false but I want my answers
I'm in the catskills!
I can't keep my head still!
Can't identify the signal
'That's the way the creature thinks...'
I fell short
Of what I was told deemed to be right
It's inevitable; light is a furnace
Night distorts
Everything, and good riddance, no matter,
It's inevitable; light is a furnace
That engulfs all dark
They've got the beats
And they're vicious
Nobody can stop them
They're of another planet
This!
Ideal!