If You're Still There In The Morning

Sometimes it's alone in your room where you must feel unstable

The gambler holding a match to the side of your eye

The Sun cape crowds your head pounds rounds into the chamber

But your head's still there in the morning

If hands were designed to deceive then conceived I have gladly

With these worn out unchangeable strings my hands tend to play

But their chains of a certain design made of lies, rhymes, and allegory

But the job's still there in the morning

And each house you have buried so deep in the mind of your masters

Who closed their eyes to the war on the rim of our stars

And whoever saint soldier sinner or the obsessor the shadows are unbroken

But the Sun's still there in the morning

The holy machine tends to reject any incantations

That you made to live like you'd liked to have lived at your best

And it's the dealers of downers who engulf and perfect your imagination

That guided eye of some my-er my in a styrofoam vest

But even if my guides forsake my darling

And stolen whatever has drone inside of my home

I sleep well through the night neath the beast is the thief and the provider

And the choice is still there in the morning

So rejoice with me in the morning

Rejoice with me in the morning