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 A Site Where Production's Stopped

I'm Just A Warehouse Filled With Junk

Some Somethings For Some Someones



Tasking Time With Tracking Eye

Tectonic Shifts One Nerve At A Time

I Lay My Head In It



A Hundred Plans To Foritfy

Beige Concrete Goes On For Miles

Hiding Cities Under It

Fill My Mouth With Non-mouth Spit



There Was A Light At The Window

A Light Under The Door

But, It's Not There Anymore



(Come On Over

Get Your Shoes On

Get Your Feet On, Baby

Come On Over)