Keep me from digging’ into your eyes,

my white brother.

where you wear your sleeve,

you’ll find a golden globe.

Your petite little cover.

As long as you pin point the nearest exit to this outward-hindered-beautifully driven insane atlas.

And all you have to do is point.

I promise I won’t fight to take your way, your route, your laminated state highway.

Because all there is,

another rule to drive by,

and a brand new car with loose brakes.

Simply tell me you’re here to erase the jaded thoughts, every crazed heart, and even the runaway strays?

Welcome back to your crazy house,

I’ll say.

We’ll always find our way back home,

even when the signs go both ways.

But leave the what ifs for a new investment in a new debatable century.

For this blind country,

is not so seen.

But what does it to do to whine,

about every bland thing that won’t renew?

Some say,

you have to say,

To hell with it.

And to get lost; to measure God’s words insane.

Who are you kidding,

you dark fellow.

In every city, there is madness.

Every winter,

there’s somber and gray.

No matter the center,

every sign has it’s blinking…

State.

Got us blinking away.