The magazine needs flippin’ throughnThe calendar needs tearing toonThe dry veins in the brown leaves start to crynnAnd you’ve got old man’s hands to weighnAnniversaries to celebratenPurple lips to part in a heart to ransacknnEvery step you take is writnDown in a great book you envisionnSomewhere off in the clouds where they know you’re purennA sick shadow is hanging lownShe holds your secret just to let it gonAnd you’ve never stabbed a villain in the back beforennYou’re a fearful mannYour hands shakenAnd your eyes dance along the landscapenLooking for the best next place to runnInto a ditch or a dead endnThrough the alley or out on MainnTo the epicenter or to the sun