Sour Grapes

I’m not coming home
I’m running to the rising Sun
Streets paved with gold
And vineyards in the fold
I’m a guilty man with guilty hands
And I’m in love with slow digressions
Goodbye structure and constraint
I’m never coming home

So take your pick and choose your poison
Drink till you’re sick beyond a reason
You’re not at fault
The system’s weakness
It’s all in season

I think I’m dead
An angel in the shoulder
A devil on the other with
No evidence

I’m no metaphor
But read between the lines
It’s common courtesy for us
Not to leave anybody behind
And I’m sure that there’s a line
Between the privileged and the poor
Frenzied ferrymen are playing Texas Hold’ Em
With Jesus Christ and twelve battleships built by gluttons

I think I’m dead
An angel in the shoulder
A devil on the other with
No evidence

Cause we’re all different books
With different authors
The pressure’s setting in

It hasn’t rained in many years
It’s time to make a better move
We’re running out of things to teach
And running out of kids to learn
Running out of room to run
The frontier ends so take a breath and

Jump out of these shoes laced with ignorance
And into soles of understanding
Cause the world is squared off, and
You’ll find it’s never better on the other side
These people are sour, as I realize that
I just know I wanna go home
I wanna go home!

I think I’m dead
An angel in the shoulder
A devil on the other with
No evidence

Cause we’re all different books
With different authors
The pressure’s setting in
The pressure’s setting in