Lyrics:

He saw Mars but he felt Neptune,
He had hoped to feel a certain strong emotion
But this is all they had to say:
'I was the son of a man, and so
We came together and we shook hands.'
'We shook hands.'
He often wondered what a million people
Would look like scattered randomly
Across a moonless sky, and how unlikely
It would be that they would all just
Say the obvious thing:
'You may call me brother now.'
'Yes, brother, I know.'

He is forty two,
Five-feet-eight-inches tall,
Normally wears his curly hair long.
He has a ruddy complexion, broad
Shoulders and is barrel-chested,
Is unusually strong.
He frequently wears a full beard
And sometimes glasses.
He is a college graduate,
A talented artist, and sculptor.
Now, Maps is a soft-spoken loner,
Who resents society and all organizations.
Maps fancies himself a ladies' man.
He is an avid chess player,
Smokes cigarettes, and a pipe.
He is a beer drinker and loves to eat.
Maps is a man of widespread interests,
Who might very well be living abroad.

He felt lost be he felt pretty intensely good,
And he woke up screaming having dreamed
Of a color he had never seen before:
'I went to bed and to sleep, it was so
Unexpected, it really was frightening,
And I saw pretty much the same thing
Embedded in my pillow.'
He had no trouble recognizing patterns
In the most delicate arrays of tangled lines,
But he had a strange fixation on partaking
In nefarious things:
'Stealing, lying, cheating, gambling,
Fornicate...'

He saw red, but he thought five,
He was pleased to find his road trip
Was enhanced by number-color synesthesia:
'My trusty Rosinante bounds along the road
Very well, leaving the friendly aroma
Of donuts and chicken tenders
Hanging in the desert air.'

He willed away the miles while quixotically
Attempting to reclaim his inner child,
He was embrangled and enmeshed in
Something far too loud to comprehend:
'I want all of the American people
To understand that it is understandable
That the American people cannot
Possibly understand.'