Folk-influenced psychedelic poem-pop.
Lyrics - Garth
Programming - Garth
Production - Garth and Ben
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All the little fast cars are leaving with their masters
and crowding on the highway
They're coming home to you
Eyes in every window show a fear that they don't know
The traffic's moving too slow, there's nothing they can do
CHORUS
No time to look around and no time to feel down
And nothing ever changes ain't that grand
There's money to be made and there are bills to be paid
As if it really matters
ain't that strange?
All the pretty houses contain the married spouses
They've pictures on their white walls of places never seen
Church is on a Sunday and work begins on Monday
And every other day is a television dream
No time to be afraid so put all your fears away
There is a special place just for you
Come to the masquerade, we're all drinking lemonade
There's not a cloud in sight it's Thursday
(Payday)
You're like a boy with a broken down toy
but you don't ever cry and you never say die
You're wealth is increasing that's good you suppose
But nobody knows...
Shattered like a window dreams are real until the wind blows
You plan and still you don't know that nothing's what it seems
Now the tide is turning like leaves your memories burning
Inside your little boxes the pain will fade away
Chorus
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