I am foraging for a phone booth on the forest floor that is not so soft
They build buildings to house people making money
Playwright, birthright, same thing
Rise to wave it here
But it's just the sun setting
I always wanted to be commander in chief
And never get plowed
You know the ones that always get dumped on
Where the sun rarely filters down
Or they build buildings to make money off of housing people
I look up, it looks like the buildings are burning
The rhythmic clicking on and off of computers
The pulse that draws death dancing out of anonymous side streets
We're all rehearsing for the presidency
Where there's life for hire
Out there if a flag of truth were raised we could watch every liar
To another business day
Those who call the shots are never in the line of fire, why
But I can envision the mediocrity of my finest hour
Where the ground is getting harder and it was not that soft before
We learn America like a script
It draws death dancing out of little countries with funny languages
It's the failed America in me
Underneath the corporate canopy
It's true, like a lot of things are true
The solar system calling an end
The pulse of the American machine
Where the sun rarely filters down
The ground is not so soft, not so soft
Of my one woman army
We bring ourselves to the role
Eternally circling, signally
It's the fear that lives in a forest of stone
