Ever notice the age of destiny seems like a by gone era?
There’s no one to blame for your lot
No mysticism behind your feelings
the warning system off
Everyday as routine and regular as the other one
So if I want to be happy I have to produce that
The mighty age of production making
Whatever happened to those days when the unexpected or when destiny awaited every corner of every dawn with unexpected surprises of the what is might to come
Not even death guarantees a surprise these days,
you kick the bucket and hasta la vista baby
The only thing left is change
and that’s slow
like the timeless ages that have come and gone
so we seek solace in the mysticism of other humans
who still believe in a better morrow
because after having rebelled at all the other lies
being flesh & bones doesn’t cut it either
So for me it’s the mornings that do it.
Yet I beat the crap out of it everyday
kill it with a vengeance only to be back here baby, like a Jeremiah.