Streamline the days,
Suspending my ambitions,
To manage fishes.

They swim by my arms,
Thrive off vague direction,
So they can get a cut,
In the caste system.
Well, hey, you win some.
But who'd wish for that?

The thing you do,
Hardly represents the truth.
It's an alkaline taste,
Of what we once had.

So we'd better make plans.
Recite our promise once again.
And again we'll breathe,
Cream filled air.

Recessed inside,
Between storm shelter windows,
And a bottle of no-doze,
The cast of a man,
Dissolves.
His desire a victim,
Of the streets slanted shadows.
Because the shadows,
Won't yield to tar-dulled strings,
Anymore.

But his feet keep tapping along,
To a song that's come and gone,
To a hope that the voices are wrong.

So, he'd better make plans,
Recite his promise once again,
And again, he'll breathe his own air.

So, we'd better make plans.
Recite our promise once again,
And again, we'll breathe,
As we once did.