In this room Where ageless wept I never felt so worthless and direct On this street Two masts attempt And I never felt so worthless and direct We got lost in the hills With fog lights on Dressed in discomfort, cursing, harrowed and suspect But there was room For harking on Words out an open window, worthless and direct Light breaks out on inertia! I'm in the catskills And an attack in the foothills Brings me to a standstill 'But that's the way the creature thinks!...' Is this injury within my head? Sick of denial and amending plenary I hid my doubts in you, and grinned instead But I was afraid that you weren't of this century! I am Bob Brantley Derision attacks me A private soliloquy No more to distill I can't keep my head still Misinterprets the signal If you could see That I'm not boring now There was a violence in how you spoke No underlying empathy to detect You do not possess her; it's not a joke To say that it's complimenting, worthless and direct You don't know my surname I can't remember what was said or who to blame I don't suppose that we know Anything Your father brought flowers Your mother tended to as we whiled away the hours And i cannot imagine being So contrived Oh our liberty is better than yours, and you cannot join us, ogre! But sympathy's odour compels us, And strange as it is, I would do anything I know that it seems false but I would do anything I know that it seems false but I would do anything I know that it seems false but I want my answers I'm in the catskills! I can't keep my head still! Can't identify the signal 'That's the way the creature thinks...' I fell short Of what I was told deemed to be right It's inevitable; light is a furnace Night distorts Everything, and good riddance, no matter, It's inevitable; light is a furnace That engulfs all dark They've got the beats And they're vicious Nobody can stop them They're of another planet This! Ideal!