Dip your feet in the water,
That cold, cold water’
A stagnant reminder of the ripples of change,
Rearrange your needs,
Become a new you; Like the weeds that grasp what they believe,
Live through the concrete, Make it home, that familiar unknown.
I dance on my own, a sunflower left a-strewn
No cares needed, just be your own
This City will make you yearn,
For things that are never known
Cure the itch or let it grow
Dip your finger in a bag of insanity
Realise it makes sense
Respect the other, or not bother
Nothing really matters,
Slit my throat with a feather,
flit your wings with a jack hammer
Show me what we already know
We are the seeds that are left to sow
We are the ones they don’t want to know
The hand that just won’t fold
Weeds that refuse to grow old
Freedom that only we know
So dip your feet in the stale water below
Take comfort in the sincerity of the chaos
We will live, and we will die
My life is mine
Bloody and screaming, a knife held above our head
From the day we were born
Until the day we say goodbye
when I make a choice, there is no divine
Redefine your lines, or blame the silence that won’t die
I dance on my own, a sunflower left to strewn
No cares needed, just be your own
This City will make you yearn,
For things that are never known
Cure the itch or let it grow
You’re only as old as you know
Let it shape you or dip your feather in the ink
Let it rip away the world of numbers and spreadsheets
Slit my throat with ideas, make me anew
Open, never vacant
An empty space without a shrink
No cue to be told when to think
Never censored, always on the brink
An accountant without a financial need
An addict without their weed
Idol Hands 