Funny looking legs standing in the quicksand,
Here, have another drink and try to look respectable.
Remember, you can tell them all to go to hell
And the tax man will still come to get what he's expecting.
You only think that you can get to somewhere safe.

They humor you, you know, and it's insanity that's calling,
Leaving telltale traces in all your mirrored halls,
A tuft of gray and a vein that pops a little too close to home.
And you can terrorize the Jesus Christ into their souls
But we both know that you're just a homeless waif.

Face it, funny legs, you can make 'em laugh
But you cannot make 'em feel
You can even charge their lives with bright collections.
But you can never bring 'em home or call them orphans
And they will always see the spots on your reflections.
Limitations, after all, are meant to chafe.

So now, what say
let's you and I
try to survive
for one more day.

-blue