The bohemian new yorker has come a little farther
This time around it\'s all about
Hip hop and the smell of jazz,
Tears that turn into fireworks
Before they\'ve hit the ground.

(He left her in charge)

This is a new generation of pop persuasion
And the indignation is overpowering
To those who stand in the light,
Her kisses are salty
And the sea isn\'t ready to respond
To her interior depth

(The waters sank around him and he asked her
Who am i? what am i doing here?)

He can\'t sustain a two-dollar secret
And his pants are full of crack cocaine and nicotine patches,
Devouring the answers of nothingness
In a paradiso of velvet and suede, women
Who wear their wrinkles better than others do,
Still have the nerve to wear
Mini-skirts in the public,

(She comes to him easily now)

Don\'t dig in the garbage don\'t pull out lost souls
From beneath their reckage the ash the wax of the candles
Burning burning burning
Delivering a lost salvation to a congregation
Of fishes and aqualife,
The turquoise bend of the sea drifting further and further out
To meet the boat-striken waves, dead and dying
In the outspoken distance,

(Spirits floods her bones with mystery and legend)

The sun\'s exploding in gasoline,
Diesel fumes massaging the clouds with their
Stark scent, butterfly imagery trailing the silver lines
For a lost beauty and sacrifice that will never redeem them
As we all search for that same redemption within ours cars
And fueled dreams,

(Consumerism materialism hibernating in a drunken stupor behind
everybody\'s \'what do you want to do when you grow up?\')

It means little now that history has been written
In dolphin language and that we can read lips eyes minds
For pleasure; this is the constant source of amusement of the alleged
Superior being, elitist in its manifestations of friendship
And its so-called ethics of self-maintenance,
Crosses are used to ward off vampires and five-point stars
Are a clever fashion trend
Our mistakes are as large as the Mediterranean,
And yet we still find time for Zen poker-games and pseudo-masochism,

(She won\'t give herself to Him anymore, she won\'t give
Herself away to someone who can\'t even remember her address
to call once in a while to ask what\'s wrong againandagainandagain
It\'s useless trying to salvage this shipwreck)

Our visions and convictions
Jumping jubilantly within the particles of infinity
And we\'ve got nothing important left to say
Except maybe they\'ll surrender.