The sun's a strange light
Nothing grows right anymore
Scars on every stalk
Whose mouth should I use to talk?
The force that marks the routine
Temperature whatever degrees create the bad thing
and lay our heads in it now

It's hard to punch the clock
On the site where production stopped
I'm just a warehouse filled with junk
Some somethings for some someones tacking time
With tracking eye tectonic shifts one nerve at a time

I lay my head in it a hundred plans to fortify
Beige concrete foes on for miles
Hiding cities under it
Fill my mouth with non-mouth spit
There was a light at the window
There was light under the door
But it's not there anymore

Come on over, come on over
Get your shoes on, put your feet on

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