Superimposter
Blurred spectacle, ineffectual - let's call it romantic.
On awakening I look straight at the sun.
I'm pinned to the corner like the class clown.
But once I get in front I'll let you drown like a cat.
'Till I'm dealt that card
the engine's on,
I'm in the car.
One suck on the pipe and
I'll be gone.
I'm accountable, I'm responsible - you can call me pragmatic.
What took away the fame? Could it be built up again - the acclaim and the constant eulogies for class clowns like me?
But once I get in front I'll terrorize all I want
and the world wont turn...
stops and stagnates... disintegrates.
This romantic dream keeps you in a cage...
Should I not fraternize with these angels I've loved?
But if I'm out of time, I'll say my goodbyes and float downstream...
and have cynics witness me grow rotten at the seams...
