Goes the kitchen sink
A sound so loud I can't hear myself think
Drip drop, think tank
it's running on empty
In the face of technology
The morality and soul lack sensitivity.
Tip tap, drip drop
Raindrops on the windowsill
From there breeds a wish
for escape from the inadequate
Drip drop, think tank
Thinking about what could be,
A firehouse loft in Boston
With me staring down at the city.
Tip tap, drip drop
Reality cries down on my soul
Its pitter-patter like a million baby birds
Reaching out for control
Drip drop, think tank
Turning to Mother and She
They, who indirectly decide
how what could be, should be.
Life
should just stop screwing with the waterworks
And start getting us some damn umbrellas.
