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Contemplation,
A degree of separation,
No means of transportation,
Ill fated,
Maybe even outdated.
Bring me up you're iniquitous trail.
I will turn you off with a spin of the wheel.
The future of mind control was sitting a top the world.
As The Economist was slowly swirled.
Into pieces did it drop, swiftly and neatly, but not very quickly.
Lover please, please don't hover.
The storm's a comin' and we need to find some cover.
Under the mesh of this big old green roof,
We can lay and forever stay.
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