I've earned myself an impossible crime,
I have to paint myself a hole,
And fall inside,
And if it's far enough in sight and rhyme,
I get to wear another dress,
And count in time,

Oh, won't you do me the favor, man,
Of forgiving my,
Poly-morphing opinion here,
On your vague outline,

Find myself another burning gate,
A pretty face, a vague idea I can't relate,
And this is what you get for pulling pins
Another hole inside the hole you're in,

It's like I'm perched on the handlebars,
Of a blind man's bike,
No straws to grab, just the rushing wind...
On the rolling mind,
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They'll want you to decide,
Eventually, it happens,
Some gather on one side,
With all their pearly snapping,
They close the basement door,
It sets our teeth to chatter,
You never saw it before,
But now that hardly matters,

You're old enough, boy,
Too many summers you've enjoyed,
So spin the wheel,
We'll set you up with some odd convictions,
Because you're finally golden, boy

It's like I'm perched on the handlebars,
Of a blind man's bike,
now straws to grab just the rushing wind...
On a rolling mind.