subterranean homesick alien
The breath of the
morning i keep forgetting. The smell of the warm summer air. I live
a town where you can't smell a thing, you watch your feet for cracks in the pavement.
Up above aliens hover
making home movies for the folks back home, of all these wierd
creatures who lock up their spirits, drill holes in themselves and live their secrets.
They're all up tight.
I wish that they'd
swoop down in a country lane, late at night when i'm driving. Take me
in board their beautiful space ship, show me the world as i'd love to see it, I'd tell all
my friends but
they'd never believe, they'd think that i'd finally lost it completely. I'd show them the
stars and
the meaning of life. They'd shut me away.
But i'd be all right.
i'm just up-tight.