Cyrus his panoptic eye
His suspect light and enterprise, defines a moral view
In these galleries of stone
The sad sack women roam and one or two he will pursue
In these cataracts of time
The sheer exhaustion of these crimes is funny 'cause it's true
His full spectrum appetites will not infringe
Their rights and who cares, frankly, if they do?
History in the making
Somewhat bruised, completely aching
As it all goes down
Another day above the ground
By the park the lonely man
We set the scene, the sun, the sand, so very far away
Beneath the pylons in the rain
The ragged hordes have come again, a thousand in the bay
The lovesick swain who seized the day
His speech that took your breath away, it was I think sincere
The fissure where the bone comes through
The reptile house of me and you, the truth of things is clear
There will be no blessing
And it's all just window dressing
You can ask around
Another day above the ground
Conjure up the clowns and me
All crying in the chroma key in fields of fire and air
All are hostages to time
The knuckleheads, the new sublime is neither here nor there
The sins they said would find you out
The wind that blows the clouds about are seldom far away
Those lucid dreams that hang around
They're silent in the morning now and quieter in the day
Burning all the diaries
I'm just helping with inquiries
Here at Lost and Found
Another day above the ground

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