What with all this spinning
I misread "Jesus is Lord" on the side of a truck to be "Jesus is Food"
I'll blame the scripty lettering and residues from someone else's truth
When the grit gets in your eyes and on your fingers
When you wash it out of your hair and again
Reality always sets in
With the shit kickers and two heavies
And all kinds of things sound good that aren't true
There isn't even a rug under your feet
Because your whole planet is done up in hardwoods and cobblestones
Or sun-bleached asphalt and hardpack
You can make a jump with all that
Keep 'em high everybody
Bale upon bale upon bale
And the strangeness keeps on
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