in his pages he draws the revolution   and a skyline full of dust and full of dead pollution   all these dead poets have left him awake at the wheel   you cannot feel, you cannot feel what you think you can feel      in her wake they find no reasonable resolution   no signs pointing to anything except confusion   and the end of the road for you   this is the end of the road for you and your body is gone      on the freeway he's painting a limousine   in his mind it can't be real, not as real as it seems   because the alcohol has left him awake at the wheel   he cannot feel and what he feels couldn't really be real (he's alive)      we'll say look at it, what a lovely reception   and we'll look at it, and we'll hope and hope and hope and hope   we'll say look at it, what a lovely reception   and we'll look at it and we'll know. we'll know. we'll know.