it's coming through a hole in the air, from those nights in tiananmen square. it's coming from the feel that this ain't exactly real, or it's real, but it ain't exactly there.it's coming through a crack in the wall; on a visionary flood of alcohol; from the staggering account of the sermon on the mount which i don't pretend to understand at all...
it's coming from the sorrow in the street, the holy places where the races meet; it's coming to america first, the cradle of the best and of the worst...
it's there they got the range and the machinery for change and it's there they got the spiritual thirst. it's there the family's broken and it's there the lonely say that the heart has got to open in a fundamental way...
i'm sentimental, if you know what i mean; i love the country but i can't stand the scene. and i'm neither left or right i'm just staying home tonight, getting lost in that hopeless little screen. but i'm stubborn as those garbage bags that time cannot decay, i'm junk but i'm still holding up this little wild bouquet...
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