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about

Written February 1999

lyrics

Make it obvious, the prevailing, unknown thought says to me
As I battle back a world of insignificancity
Breathin' hard into the sails of my mind
And compelling me to surrender to the dying
And with all existing havens beckoning
I am a prizefighter cocked back to take a swing

Well experts say and studies show and you don't have to guess
They'll drop their dollars down for dirt if you just promise sex
And the peddler aims to push the primal lie
To make equation of the terms 'to live' and 'to buy'
Set a standard for the second step beneath the lowest rung
And they'll cater every party favor until they've got you hung
Pedestrian luck bites off a buck more than he can chew
The money you don't make is the money that will make you
And the welcome mat to this world of easy wealth
Reads "It's so easy, man, come help yourself"
I want freedom from denominational minds
Freedom from pecuiniarial shrines
And now listen to those tin whistles whine
I will be damned by every dollar that steals a moment of my thought
And makes me stop and take a look at everything I haven't got
Every million-dollar figure wastes my time
Lord, ain't a man still a man without a dime
And in this world of monetary wills
Lord I'm beggin' you to post no bills

I sat empty at the table, filled in front of me
As I sought the prophets' wisdom from the words of history
I'm gonna wade and be bidin' my time
And let distill and find the kinda guy I'm
Though I profane what I try to explain despite my tried precision
'Cause words, like feeble messengers, are fraught with indecision
The opened mouth, half estranged to wisdom's touch
Though ink an quill present potential for so much
I think recycled thoughts I'm apt to call my own
In a processed hope to apprehend the unknown
Well I try so hard to see things in a glow
But cynicism strikes its timid blow
And now listen to those tin whistles crow
I have seen evil taking action in the minds of honest men
Seen plain, it makes me laugh or retch and I shake my weary head
And I refuse the dues of pity and contempt
While I watch the thinking fabric being hemmed
You can lead the masses to the water main
But to keep them there, you've got to entertain

Through the windows of the soul I shoplift, my mind is always caught
To behold so rarely does define just what is and what is not
True perception is too often misperceived
Having eyes, can you see and not believe?
What's held for fact is viewed and persuaded as perception
But the thoughts are misconstrued and arrangéd for projection
And I face the foes I know I most despise
And they're emerging more from right behind my eyes
As I wrestle back against volunteered decay
I pay the price that's only mine to pay
If there's something wrong, it's something I can't see
And I've closed my own eyes to eternity
And now listen to those tin whistles scream
I have reason to be disgusted, 'cause my reason makes me blind
I've missed when I've been trusted, and that's weighin' on my mind
Clouded by the lens intended to correct
I am still in the dark unless I'm circumspect
And that's not to say that every effort is amiss
But I can barely strike a match in this abyss

One last riddle-ridden paradox hauled from the starboard nets
Two minds can best a pair of rocks, but I wouldn't hedge my bets
Conclusion to the elaborate delusion on display:
Question every evident to identify the grey
The final sin committed by the small
Is to act as if you apprehend it all

credits

from Songs for the Anti​-​De​-​Counterrevolution, released June 23, 2000

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Rob Getzschman Los Angeles, California

Rob Getzschman is a singer-songwriter and producer from Omaha living in Los Angeles. He was previously front man for DC-based Analog Jetpack, played bass for LA's Highland Hawks and writes and produces music for Mighty Good Road. www.mightygoodroad.com

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