Lyrics
Pick up to six lines to make a card.
The horn of a passing tractor-trailer.
Shower thoughts mistin’ into data streams
All because—(“You didn’t invent nothin’…”)
(“You didn’t invent nothin’…”)
Ruby galls bankroll Jim’s dream machines
All because—(“You didn’t invent nothin’…”)
(“You didn’t invent nothin’…”)
(“Ice in the windshields…”)
Jims prefer robots that play (under Citgo lights)
With sandlots that pay
The pigs who work to oink and slop for another day
He owns the patents, he owns the machines
He owns the government, so now you’re Snowden
He runs the paradise, he writes the parables
He wrings the parasols, so now you’re Snowden
Fish meekin’ through Mitch’s school o’ sharks?
Evolve gills—(“Motions don’t mean nothin’…”)
(“No, your emotions didn’t invent nothin’…”)
Winter glories lit aflame by horizonal larks…?
Evolve wintry thrills…—(“Depth’s horizonal barks…”)
(“No, you didn’t invent no, nothin’ at all…”)
(“Ice in the windshields…”)
Jims prefer robots that play (under Christmas lights)
With sandlots that pay
The cows who work to milk a trailer for another day
Who owns the patents? Who owns the machines?
Who owns the government? So now we’re Snowden
Jim runs the paradise, Jim writes the parables
Jim wrings the parasols, so now you’re Snowden
Britney Spears:
Oh, say what you want about me!
Oh, but can’t you see what I see?
A few of us can watch the rest of us
(And now we’re snowed in)
And now we’re smothered by Jim…
If the future can see all of us
(“Ask God: what does Jim still ‘want’ from us?”)
What does Jim who sees all of us
(“Still ‘want’?”) Still want with us?
Still want for us?
(“Turn up the radio…”)
Jim prefers robots that play (under Texaco lights)
To sandlots that pay…
The boys who work to mill a nation for another day
The boys who work to mill a nation for another day
Jim owns the patents, Mitch owns the machines
Gladys owns the government, so now we’re Snowden
Jim owns the pamphlets, Gladys owns the canteen
Mitch owns the monuments, so now we’re Snowden
Jim wrote the syllabi, Mitch dopes your magazines
Gladys mists your moral codes, so now we’re Snowden
Jim punts the paradise, Mitch winks in 3-D
Gladys sells you parasols, so now we’re Snowden
(“Ice in the windshields…”)
Aquariums gurgle into teen dreams and scream queens
All because—(“You didn’t invent nothin’…”)
(“No, you didn’t invent nothin’…”)
(“Turn up the radio…”)
Modernity gurgles into teen dramas and Scream’s fiends
All because—(“Where are our Snowdens?”)
(“Where are our Snowdens?”)
Under those lights
(“Ice in the windshields…”)
Behind that ghost face—under that
Exxon, Texaco, horizonal shine…
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