Tradition
Excuse the inquisition, but you've taken the position of somone who knows up from down and right from wrongIs that why you play your tragic song to the tom tom beats and that fucking gong
But don't be long, don't make us wait for the reasons that you've left your home
In a land where they say that a godhead does provide the means to your fantastic crome
Your ride, whether it be truck or motor cycle or the wrought iron madness of an uncle named clyde
So get it through your dome that you've gone astray young lad, and your dreams will start to fade
And the decisions that you've made will tear asunder that hopes and plans that you thought so care fully you had laid
of mice and men...
where and when.
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