...

...

I saw this name in a pop-up prayer,

Hung like sneakers on the world-wide air...

Listened in close, golden statues stood anew;

The voice was honey, and the words untrue.

They crumbled like marble, baked next to grace,

and so, I traced the lines upon my heroes face...

Their kingdom built on borrowed hymns;

with every gold muffin man too thin.

And I don't know (Oh-ooh-oooh), what they’re looking for,

yet, my heart trick-or-treats at every door...

Nothin' to eat, no idle hands;

I’ma justa follower, and I don’t know (Oh-ooh-oooh)...

...

I shoot the Man in the Moon, but he looks away,

breathes-back silence where the famous pray...

I think, he built my heroes out of borrowed lines;

so, we stream them grapple with the hands of time.

...

We're justa followers, and they don’t know (Oh-ooh-oooh)...

...

"If knowing means to stand and weep,

rather, we'd walk where the gold muffin men creep...

The taller the tale, the harder they fall;

and thus forgotten heroes were never there at all..."

Still, I look to where the analog hums,

through three-color vision and bitten tongues...

Perhaps the beauty’s in the alphabet flow;

The more I listen... anda I don’t know (Oh-ooh-oooh)...

anda I don’t know (Oh-ooh-oooh)*

...