The air is a question an empty suggestion
Of unanswered pauses hinted at before
So see here it's beauty but some call it duty
She questions it rudely no different than before
Mistakes they don't mean nothing
At least she's learning something
She busts through Atlantis depressively manic
She curses the manna that's floating from the sky
The whole thing's an orgy all sweaty and largely
It's rooted in whispers and hinted in asides
You can call us worthless
Just don't call us mirthless
If she's a movie she's foreign and moody
And smoking tobacco meloncholically
She ain't wearing nothing emotions erupting
She's everyone's something periodically
I guess I hadn't listened but now I know it's christened
She seizes the meaning and renders it leaning
To absolutism poisoning itself
Narrative license has eaten the hyphen
Oh, god, let it ripen it's sitting on the shelf
And I ain't got the time
I ain't got the time
I just ain't got the time
I ain't got the time