in his pages he draws the revolution
and a skyline full of dust and full of dead pollution
all these dead poets have left him awake at the wheel
you cannot feel, you cannot feel what you think you can feel
in her wake they find no reasonable resolution
no signs pointing to anything except confusion
and the end of the road for you
this is the end of the road for you and your body is gone
on the freeway he's painting a limousine
in his mind it can't be real, not as real as it seems
because the alcohol has left him awake at the wheel
he cannot feel and what he feels couldn't really be real (he's alive)
we'll say look at it, what a lovely reception
and we'll look at it, and we'll hope and hope and hope and hope
we'll say look at it, what a lovely reception
and we'll look at it and we'll know. we'll know. we'll know.
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