Interruption Lyrics

This bay is interrupted (like a young girls daydream is interrupted by her father's angry call)
By the highway that runs through it
and the pulp mill that spits into it
I am flying over asphalt perched on two wheels
the sky tears up but wants to bawl
wind and rain in my face with the stain of yesterdays workday making me dread todays
dead opossums and raccoons and foxes strewn all over the shoulder
I float by without surprise
I've come to expect neglect and decay

I stare at the quiet spectacle of entrails
pushed out and bubbling in the rainbow colored puddles of roadside rain
the remarkable thumbs of opossums
the fire-like fur of the foxes
but I gotta stop it and get on to work I'm gonna be late

the rain is interrupted from it's simple communion with the soil
by the asphalt and the concrete
all those plains of black and gray
where the brown and green ones used to be

I stare through a glass pane
once I'm at that dry din of my dreaded workday
the rain seems resigned to just flowing down their drains
I'm afraid that's how I've become
you're not paid to daydream I hear someone say

Our lives are interrupted
like all those daydreams were as far back as I can recall
from the moment we're born we're in custody
sterile hospitals bright lights needles vaccines
sterile schools white bread force fed whitewashed history
dirty jobs either starve or accept wage slavery
but there's freedom in our visceral history
and it bubbles up like the lava of an ancient memory

I stare at the skyline
there's billboards where trees were
there's warehouses where homes were
there's rivers and understanding run dry
I'd sure like to set fire to some of it
and holler in the glow of it
and make the ghosts of our hope come alive
if not hiding from our own fear we'd find the spirit the guts and the time
to tell each mumbling shadow and each idle arrow
that the future's not written yet
tell each dream invader and every nay sayer
that we were not finished yet
excuse me I was talking or living or dreaming or just being
too bright for the gray malaise of these modern days
to each interruption we'd answer with eruptions
of the lava that bubbles underneath the mundane