This song is really for everyone

Scene three/took four-- a slow ride on all seven kinds of ambiguity and killer robots tore the whole factory into sleeves and brandtags/bandits/ as women jumped out of windows dragging the fire with them and survived with no metaphors or anything. The tattoo said it had to be you. From now on we're only writing love songs or escape songs. These paper trumpets are unfurling, sped up for your appreciation, til it all turns maddening and soothing again and the revolution is vague on these buffer zones and clones the vault it runs from anyways. Exclaim for soma, for so many dangers make it safe again for soma. Focus on sanity like snowmen and flannels. That black man who can swim again. But he swims like he thinks when he thinks someone's watching, desperately, detached, catchy techno fake plastic trees and blunts in a fetal postion. Sometimes acts so phony you wanna bring him home/back, blame him for his own power and powerlessness until the ships in your imagination are just twirling on a strung song like early ballerinas in their studio full of mirrors, murmuring, trust us, leaping out of a turn, falling into a split, getting up gracefully and walking with the mirror, not what they seem, not what they took for