Long Island Express

Living on the Island

I'm stranded on a cloud

Sir Bently doesn't cry.

Stepping to the precipice

Peering down the down the cliff

Peaking in my crows eye

O'Hare sips a mai tai.

My Nimbus scrapes a tower

A storm passes by

The air sticks of money

Vaseline in someone's hair.

I feel the sun's heat

But the heavens seem so dark.

I try to jump,

Maybe to my death

To the Hampton Beaches

Where dead peasants grow on trees.

But yet my chains tie me down

and the key to freedom is giving up.

This prison cell is my freedom

A delusion from the heat.