Taken for a Ride

Marvin walked into a helpless land and wondered lightly "Am I happy?" "Is this happy?" Following the footsteps left by man He stepped to reprimand the mystic So sadistic Better half a century passed on later Thought I'd be the next curator of this story 15 months not faltered once Victorian dunce turned pico-luminary This is scary Listening to painted whispers Pastel wailings, matte disquiet Next the stranded cynic sits and toils His fits and foils written slowly Nothing's holy Emotion versus cognition Trial the pathos logos fission This explosion of devotion Lonely sulking halves that wanted Just a taste of closure to implore them To start living 30 hours each with minimal outreach Not for sale, for fun It's free, friend Come to the deep end Gazing on the abscessed silence Woeful strokes of chordal whims One solitary smile to go that extra mile To make me feel today To make it go away The chemistry is gone Taken for a ride Far away from you No longer left inside Actor with his trident crown and blindfold Smiled and counted three by nine-fold Is it over? Or is he just a cycle now interned? A bridled foreword The beginning of an era Study write practice record Program mix master film and edit Then publish to the ether Rinse repeat sir When questioned, simply smile and wave Look on your pile and say Well, I'm no lightweight Jesus Christ mate Listening in tandem To a sorrow of forgotten hills One solitary smile to goad these woes and wiles To help me see the day I'll happily throw away This chemistry of old These beakers and vials Far away from through I'll come back in a while One secondary smile to go that extra mile To make me feel today To make it go away The chemistry is gone, taken for a ride Far away from you No longer left inside There are no secrets anymore I've laid them all out on the floor (They're all for you) You want something? You know more about me than my family All these sick unsightly maladies Staving off the due insanity Haptic feedback half-baked blasphemies 27 songs are yours My blood, my sweat, my open doors I've hurt reviled and reconciled 500 fucking hours and I'm finally getting bored This story isn't over I'm not sure that it's begun But I'd just like to spend some more time Enjoying being one My quill is dry, my flat-line nigh My tears arranged and poured And yet still you want for more? I think it's better when you don't plan things Because you get too disappointed in things But, I, this wasn't planned, it just grew Started one little machine, then two, and five, and six Only thing I'd probably do is like to have a bigger place To display more things that I get rid of 'em But on the other hand, big is not better, it's, better is what's better I think, I like that quote "Better is better"