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If you stand too long you’ll get too lost to stay
A seat in a throne won’t escape away the means
If you look too hard your eyes can get confused
A magnifying glass won’t focus on the letters you mislaid
If you yell too loud you may swallow the truth
A bright blue megaphone won’t make up
For all the calls you wish you hadn’t passed

I can’t walk when I think about
Where I’m going to step until I stop
I can’t talk when I’m all alone
When no one’s here to listen
No one else is this gone

I need a trip, I need a sip
Maple syrup sticks to the bottom of the feet
To the bottom of the tongue
I need a sip; I can’t stop to take a drink
Without falling off pattern
Over the ledge into the rapids
A ride of forty-two million feet
Down the waterfall
All the way to the back
Into the middle of the street

Stand, stare and yell
I can’t move another inch in that direction
I don’t want to get to the end
I can’t say another word
There’s no one that’ll listen
I’ll walk away down that eerie path
You’ll hear me coming, me and my bell
Headed for the clash

It smells so clean, smells so clean
It’s only getting hotter
My finger tips sting
When I get to the trees
The blossoms are sopping wet
From the humidity and bumble bees
I want to take a bite of the apple
They’re yet to ripen
I stand, stare, and wait
The worms yell, “They’re all rotten”

Can’t make a move
The writings are in italics
Our fallen fathers were told
It’s not on the itinerary
That was signed in cursive
The signs warn don’t you dare
Cause the world has always been
And will always be fastidious
History is written with a pair
Of one sided eyes, loaded dice
We may as well be blind
Cause we never saw those locked away warning flares
As burning wicks
We stood still on endless elevator trips
Staring through the glass
The people outside mouthed
“Read our lips, enjoy the ninety fifth floor
With no one else around
Nothing to do, but look down”
Our screams echoed within the cubicle walls
“Let us out, we’ll pay fifty million pounds”

Stand, stare and yell
I can’t move another inch in that direction
I don’t want to get to the end
I can’t say another word
There’s no one that’ll listen
I’ll walk away down that eerie path
You’ll hear me coming, me and my bell
Headed for the clash

The shutters are drawn
I’m sitting around thinking
I like it better when the grass is longer
I’m not mowing that lawn
The collared shirt feels like it’s electric
And I’m crossing the underground line
Currents of a thousand volts
Question after question
They’re all answers and demands
Trying to get me to listen

I can hide under the stones
Avoiding detection
Where the ants and I seek
Roses locked by forests of thorns
Singing our songs of a resolute revival
With an acoustic guitar
Venturing with the farm
Into a concrete Amazon at dark
Without a flashlight or an idol
Orienteering, machete blades on strings
Slicing the way, searching for fallen martyrs
Statues of the glorified in their youth
This volume of age we’re looking to shape’s not seditious
Just trying to get a little further to somewhere
Anywhere but climbing those same old stairs
Those are built to end in ruins
You’ll hear us coming, rocking bells
Headed for the clash

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