Carl Sagan's calm attitude Things are going well, friends coming home And me, I'll be there soon
And it's hot and these cloths are wearing thin And I'm riding backwards on our tree And I'm carving letters on this tree
He's sleeping with bark ships on his tongue And he's dreaming that his mouth tastes like blood And now you're it, chasing chain link fences on our run And no one, no one gives a fuck what we'll become
And I'm riding backwards on this tree And I'm viewing the cosmos from our street And I'm Chasing letters up this tree And I'm riding backwards down our street And I'm riding backwards down our street And I'm riding backwards down our street