A House Full of Mystics

In four million years I’ll be saving a life

Stating my optics on the view

Bossing around all the witnesses

When they find me they’ll know what to do

You’ll come home on Monday

Like a hard working doggy

Sleep up in a treehouse

The next night find a hotel

Cover up my body

Cause them boys they wouldn’t let me freeze

While dreaming of a real neat melody

Come in from all across the land

That backpack there has got my left hand

Chasing a bike with a masked man on it

Doesn’t alone make people start to call me a sucker

But when Cheapo fakes his own death

That’s when generally I’m thought of as a mess

I come home on Tuesday to a house full of mystics

Screaming that I must not retreat from the basement

Now that the Earth’s turned to slime on my property

Breathing sweetly

Loving everything

Watching eight blank TV screens

Is not quite as thrilling as it seems