Saturday, June 28, 2008

The world is dead

As we pile into the truck cab on Sunday morning
You ask me how I'm feeling...are you sick?

I say no I'm not sick, I don't feel anything
I'm dead...the world is dead, all is numb

So we go on to church with all the other dead people
Some say hello and some go about their way

Later on you ask me why I don't talk to other kids
And I can't really give a good answer, not now

But if I could it would go something like this
Because there are times when the world is dead

Johnny and the other boys always seem happy
They play with other kids and don't know why

Most folks don't step away and take a look
But then, some of us are always a step away

Being a step away is a catbird seat when things go well
Yet a prison cell when you just can't get a groove on

It is the latter times when the world is dead, because,
People have agreed that being uninspired equals lonely

Especially for those who don't consciously become such
Although it has a way of leaving a cavernous void within

So the world expires and green foliage yields gray stone
The lush banquet table withers to dry cold toast

You can't stop it and you can't change it
Because the world is dead, until further notice