Life Is Thick

I honestly don't mind
if you sit this one out...
My speeches are a whisper,
your ignorance a shout.
I know you can feel,
but can you really think?
You stand so tall,
yet your ego starts to shrink.

So just ride on over the fields,
and make all of your pointless deals,
and tell the wise men how it feels...
that life is thick.

The sand castle visual,
all of it, swept away,
destruction of the tide,
makes a subject melee.
And the views of some
make a small-minded quarrel,
intelligent jokers
create an ideal moral.

And the heels on your shoes have worn away,
and you hate to disguise your eyes from the sun today,
and tell the wise men how it feels...
that life is thick.

And the love I know,
has all passed away,
I'm a bad dreamer,
but I still enjoy today.

Spin me back down the years,
to the days of my youth.
Come with me in a flashback,
so I can tell you the truth.

Spin me back down the years...

The sheep calmy grazing,
the early morning hazing,
the father of the house is far away.
The kettle is boiling,
air becomes more cloudy,
a hidden knife cuts through the day.
And the father came home that day...

And the oldest of the family,
leads with his authority.
He built a castle by the sea,
he dares the morning tide,
to wash his sons aside.

The worker and the painter,
no knowledge of the other,
and the master of the home meets his fate.
A do-er and a thinker,
brothers who hate each other,
recieve the note of their father's death today.
And the worker lifts his weight,
while the painter lifts his sword...

And the youngest of the family,
leads with new authority.
Left behind his family,
he dares the evening tide,
to wash his brother aside.

The mercenary creeding,
the army slowly moving,
swords slashed and shields splintered with brotherly love.
Home again and waiting,
they try to end debating,
autumn crawls along as they agree to a battlefield...

And the sons of the family,
meet again while battling,
a thought of victory and nothing else,
they dared the autumn tide,
and it washed them all aside...

So call your men,
and we'll repent,
have coffee on a Saturday.
All hell-bent,
like supermen,
and end this debate.
So where were your best men,
when we needed them on Sunday?
We need a superstar as president,
and Batman saves the day.
Death of a dad,
death of a son,
but no ones seems to care.
Bring out the prize,
forget the catch,
yet everyone's aware.
The neighbors are rich,
they always bitch,
about spending too much money.
Yet the poor man
with a broken home,
seems to get along okay.

So just ride on over the fields,
and make all of your pointless deals,
and tell the wise men how it feels...
that life is thick.