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Dappled Cities
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Middle People
I am dead, you are sad, it's exactly how these pieces can collide
So I'm glad that cool willingness and comfort are now wild
This waters cold, though so I'm told it stir a million perfect particles of sand
Slipped through your hands, now the body's where they're inclined to land
Is this my kind of living? Is this my kind of land?
I am sitting on a grand gesture made of something skewed and underhand
And you claim that I will never be made of man
I will rise with the sound of bird following this miracle of mine
They're the kind that would flay about with chest pushed out in pride
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And they would sing, la la la la la la la la la la and they would laugh ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
Is this my kind of living? Is this my kind of land?
I am sitting on a grand gesture made of something skewed and underhand
And you claim I will never be made of man
So true when the enemy's made of man
So great that I will never be made of man
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