I traveled through the atmosphere as a wall of feedback climbed.
The pegs were gold, the band was old, they played in half time.
Now every dream gets whittled down just like every fool gets wise.
'Cause you'll never reap of any seed deprived of sunlight.

So I've become the middleman.
The gray areas are mine.
The in-between, the absentee,
Is a beautiful disguise.

So I keep my footlights shining bright just like I keep my exits wide,
'Cause I never know when it's time to go, it's too crowded now inside.
The dead can hide beneath the ground and the birds can always fly,
But the rest of us do what we must in constant compromise.

So I've become the middleman.
The gray areas are fine.
The 'I don't know', the 'maybe so,'
Is the only real,
Is the only true,
Is the only real reply.