Left alone outside -
The field overgrown, in time
One day, a passerby
would expose, what there, there lies:
San Francisco, 1906
Picture takers get a fix of storymakers' dreams
To feed the ruthless magazines
Fires fueled by gasoline and propane
An earthquake like the world had never seen
You know it split them like a seam
They weren't the makers of a dream
Auspicious everything we read
They weren't the makers of a dream
Auspicious everything we read
And so, we are offended by the things we learn to be true
Christmas coming, 1941
Zeroes humming, take the air "“ 400 kettle drum
A mother makes another bed
The pillows found of green and red
Smoothing wrinkles in the dark "“ is he dead?
What there, there lies
All our troubles
Where is there veritas
Give me all our troubles
Mend them with naked truth
Nations rise and swell to sizes, unmanageable
Nations rise and swell to sizes, unimagineable
What there, there lies
There lies, there lies!