I've been pourin' soda pop on the compost
For the natives
Sleepin' on a cot for the away team

I've been having not-so-bad-a' nightmares
But howling bloody murder in my daydreams

It's a private midnight
In the middle of an afternoon
There's no need in saying Jesus' name in vain
He was only doing what he had to do

When I was in the garden, I was mad at him too
| started out a butterfly detective
Then I became a teenage alcoholic
Now I'm trying to get to heaven
(I'm just trying to get to heaven)
I'm just trying to get to heaven or whatever you'd call it

I don't want to make death rock anymore
I want to go where my alarm clock won't dare to come find me
I'll leave my roadmaps in a drawer and explore
Where the asphalt's still smeared
with the deer of the nineties

Where the sun don't set
It rises twice
And happy hours are subject to market price
And the present just doesn't seem nearly so untimely
Barreling forward while my memories riot behind me

It's a private decline
It's an infinite slog
When an angel gains its associate's wings
And moves back in with god

There is no room for new proposals
Gone are the daymares
Long are the lines

These are instructions for disposal
Of my own miniature private mankind
These are instructions for disposal
Of my dick
As compared to my mind
Of my dick compared to my mind
My dick compared to my mind

It's just a joke played
(a joke played)
A joke played on the future of man
Bluebirds out of time