Guess I gotta get goin', goin' down
To the road not taken
Simmerin' stew is slowin' down, now
We're nearly done bakin'
But the melt-a-man heat ain't good for the meat, no
Trippin' over my feet into the yonder
A Walden Ponder

Satellites send trails of shooting stars
As they fall to Earth, I see but God's own fireworks
Oh woe to be the man from Mars
But the cutaway always hurts
I used to hate dirt

Wonder if the Super Bowl still shows
Primetime is a-watchin' that grass grow
Crickets 'n me got a book to read
And they think it's boring
I'm a rainy day dude, it's true
I got pots out for the bleedin' blue
Takin' up thin shelter from the shadows
Still could drive men mad

Oh, what if they put the puzzle back together?
Oh, what if our population comes around?
My god, what if I'm not a factor in the future?
Will I matter at all, in a small way?
Does a pebble in creek ever get a say?

Satellites or trails of shooting stars
As they fall to Earth, I see but God's own fireworks
Oh woe to be the man from Mars
But the cutaway always hurts
I used to hate dirt

Guess I gotta get rounded, pounded down
To the river's own shapin'
Guess I gotta make peace in drownin' deep out here where the coast is clear

Satellites send trails of shooting stars
As they fall to Earth, I see but God's own fireworks
Oh woe to be the man from Mars
But the cutaway always hurts
Till you're diggin' in the dirt

Satellites or trails of shooting stars
They fall to Earth, I see but God's own fireworks
Oh woe to be the man from Mars
But the cutaway always hurts
It's why they call it work