last day in the city

Livin in a city
a cesspool of so-called creativity

Searchin’ skyscrapers,
for the one and only me

Then leap thru the air...falling 

Past the selfish giants who pretend to care...

Did you come here to be an artist?

Cuz that’s the farthest

Thing from the truth

And the hardest

Thing for you to see

Is the time has come to start brand new

Cuz there is no art here

In this culture clash ghost of a dream

Excuse for a city that only pretends to believe

In the revolution that it started generations ago

And now hangs on by the ghost of a prayer...

But no on one prays any mo’

And no one gets paid any mo’

If you wanna not get paid

To create and make art

Please, don’t get paid someplace else

And give birth to the start of a new revolution

Where you dare to preach

But not to the converted 

Liars and dreamers

Who make a concerted

Effort to fake death

Shooting blanks

Strait to their heads

They think they’re alive

As they cry out on hot city streets

For someone to listen

To their ghost of a dream…

Buy you…you are still alive

So get out while you still gotta chance

Start a new revolution in a new genesis

Start over with a dance

With the stars and moon

And give birth to the sun

With a primal beat

On an ancient drum

That calls all seekers

Looking to escape

The lies that were forced

Down their throats like a rape...

Now we all will heal slowly

Kept cool by the dawn

Of our new city

That lives in the light

Of a new kinda truth

Well, it’s been here forever...

But it’s a new kinda you