I’m looking at another day to find that I’ve got nothing to say
Or I’m looking for another way to process what happened on that birthday
And either way, if you’re gonna call it art
Then there’s a cup in front of you and right away
If you’re gonna play your part, you must drink it down
But mind eyes have seen the glory
Of the fields of flowers and factory floors
And my mind’s content to lie at rest for hours
Behind my loved ones’ doors and if there’s a war
Another shitty war to fight for babylon
Then it’s the perfect storm in a tea cup
But you must drink it down
And what do you make of the nights
When you thought you’d make much more
Than being too tired to turn the lights out
And too drunk to drink more?
And what does it take to not hear the cynics at your door saying
“It’s time the turn the lights out, and you’ll want to keep it down!”
So I’m lifting up that poison cup to drink a draught of propaganda
Or I’m giving up that other stuff in hopes that it will make me madder
But either way, if you’re gonna call it art
Then there’s a cup in front of you and right away
If you’re gonna play your part
You must drink it down
And what do you make of nights
When you thought you’d make much more
Than being too tired to turn the lights out
And too drunk to drink more?
And what does it take to not hear the cynics at your door saying
“It’s time the turn the lights out, and you’ll want to keep it down!”
And what does it say of all the things you’ve said before
When you’re too drunk to turn the lights out
And too tired to drink more?
And what do you save, and what does it feel like to be saved?
And can you “pull – 2 – 3 – 4! pull – 2 – 3 – 4!”
Can you drink it down?
Happy birthday, Ted.
