New Orleans - Portugal. The Man

I slip back down where we found

A meter milling maze,

And the rest that we find sound.

Will it find us on the bottom?

Will we find our way?

Will we fall apart useless machining the made?

Find that sleep that we’ve lost.

Fair and tired living,

Lives like little lifted leans.

Shaking heads under the shade

Of them bright, bright, bright sweet pear trees.

Mine is gone with the day,

Never miss a beat, never find a home.

Mine is gone with all time, all time.

Mother, father, brother, sister, son, daughters,

We are the rabbit that let the fox lead us.

Out in the sun with the cold war fever,

Don’t need to beg for your money, just please don’t eat us,

Deaf like the big guns foaming,

At the mouth, they’re gnashing,

Quiet like our words that roam and roll about.

Let’s march a train of thought to crack the boads,

Then we’ll find that sleep we lost, we lost.

Then we’ll find that sleep we lost, we lost.

Then we’ll find that sleep we lost, we lost.

Then we’ll find that sleep we lost, we lost.

Then we’ll find that sleep we lost, we lost.

Then we’ll find that sleep we lost, we lost.

Then we’ll find that sleep we lost, we lost.

Then we’ll find that sleep we lost, we lost.

Then we’ll find that sleep we lost, we lost.