One view of modern life.
Outside the people fell out,
Wind-blown into piles of red and gold,
I'm feeling old.
In times like these,
I'm apt to wish upon a barely breathing star,
One faintly lit, whose flickering
Can hardly reach the Earth,
Uncertain if it should,
That's if it could.
I feel the weight of something big,
Not seen since Martin Luther King,
Donned his crown.
Maybe it's me, but there's no love
Upon the streets, it all feels cold.
The many saint-like voices do their best
To test our patience and our virtue.
And if they could,
You know they would.
Outside the rain lashes my window pane.
The river's getting full.
I find no method in your madness,
I'm just glad that it's the provinence of fools,
The same ones that you thought you,
Left behind in school.
When TV bears a silent witness,
To our fitness for the vote,
I'm going home.
And at work, I'll lament the fact
That I'm still here and my friends have gone.
It seems they're casualties of corporate greed,
In Los Angeles.
It never ceases, the folks insist
They're pleased as punch,
I beg to disagree.
from In the Sea (Endlessly)
released January 1, 2015
Words and music by John McClellen and the Moraggots. Electric drums played by Mike Spinrad.
all rights reserved