Tip Toe, three in a row
Everything’s quiet and I’m listening to my hair grow.
I’m feeling down like a hazy shade of grey.
Even if the sun is out, and it’s a sunny day.
Sick inside, crazy on the brain.
Rain, rain, down the drain.
Sleepy, sleepy, time to chill.
Watching rain drops collecting on the window sill.
Waking up, waking up inside.
I’ve got that creativity that I can no longer hide.
I’m thinking about what the guitar is to the song writer,
And what the gun is to the freedom fighter.
Then I think about what the camera is to the filmmaker,
and coffin is to the undertaker.
We are in harsh times.
People being divided, and hate turned into crimes.
My eyes wake up to the negative new feed.
Politicians making money, the rich open with their greed.
I’m just here watching, making statements about life.
People dealing with real situations, their problems, their strife.
