Under the sun
Out of the blue
On Amsterdam Avenue
A baker's dozen red birds flew by you
Screaming into your ears
Screaming
I know what's goin' on with you
It's nothing new
It's just that same old fractal repeating over your eyes
Into your ears
On your hands
A baker's dozen red birds flew westward
Into the Hudson River that day
It's a strange thought
But what do you do when you've gotta run?
We're getting to the point
Where we can finally steal our hands back from the box
Of miscellaneous garbage stolen confiscatingly by the police
But it's not gonna be hard for the police
Even though it's hard for everyone
It's a strange thought
But what do you do when you've gotta run?
This machine is breaking down
It's time to pull the plug on the neon clown
We're getting to the point
Where we can finally steal our lives back from the sky
Where they've been held eternally
Under lock and key solitarily by the police
But it's not gonna be hard for the police to break into our homes