Waitin’ for Superman’s good advice
Beauty is a box
clenched in my hand,
and it’s filled with rocks
and moments as fine as sand.
My box is leaking,
because my mind’s power is weakening.
Where once imagination was so strong,
now most things are mostly wrong,
like when I listen to a great song,
and it’s just drags on so long, and I know it,
so I can’t wait ’til it’s gone,
so I can press play again. Play.
And it keeps playing, it keeps playing and playing, keeps
playing, playing and playing, and it keeps playing
’til the day I press stop.
And be someone great.