Sunday Driver

I walk the earth quietly,

by day carry a net.

With no strings attached,

to a magic marionette.

See there's so little time left

and yet there's so much space.

Thinking why don't you give me a call later on

so we can touch base.

I swim across the seven seas,

and follow the sounds of handclaps.

And just try to keep my balls

out of the sand traps.

Because before I go on live,

all my enemies try to contrive

plots to make my whole entire

routine take a swan dive.

But this ain't commercialized

hip hop or indie pop.

Nah, this ain't the mashed potato.

Uh-Uh,this ain't the windy hop.

The dance that goes with this

is called the keep perfectly still.

Before your brain becomes burnt out,

like cheap circuitry will.

Lately I've been spending almost

all my nights with my hands full.

Between writing my rhymes

and my fights with the Man-Wolf.

I'm building a better mousetrap

and plus a wider fence.

Because I trust my instincts

and follow my spider-sense.