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Rumble
The promise of gravity feels
a threat
And I’m lying in my grave at
the age of sixteen
Thinking of all the things that
I’ve not had the time to do yet
And you’re lying in your bed at three hundred and four
Got a fever you’re burning up a hundred and three
You must be thankful for all the things you will not have to see
It’s just interpretation
You merchants of intimidation
Such a pretty sight to see
On fire the world can be
The grand finale you have waited for
It’s been a little bit touch and go
At the first you refused to know
Coming up on a little too late
Well it’s a Friday night and where are you?
Clutching ice in your hand, jumping off of the world
Keeping company with mars because the end’s not nigh for you
And we’re picking our way through the undergrowth
Trying not to get caught in your undertow
Keep our heads above water don’t ya know oh you don’t know
It’s just interpretation
You merchants of intimidation
Such a pretty sight to see
On fire the world can be
The grand finale you have waited for
It’s been a little bit touch and go
At the first you refused to know
Coming up on a little too late
And I’ll wipe out my family tree
I won’t suffer them to see
This downward spiral ends with me
The world that would will never be
And I’m feeling tricked myself
Ya I’ve been in better health
The inheritance that on us fell
Casts a bitter spell
The promise of ease becomes a trap
Not easily escaped and that
I know we’ve all fallen into, into which the end’s been shaped
But she’ll keep turning anyway
Long after we have had our day
When we’re all dead and gone I dream that green will right itself from gray
What’s this interpretation
I see no room for negotiation
Such a pitiful sight to see
Water up to your knees
Wade through mud and tears and salt and sea
These merchants of intimidation
Marching to the death, to the whole damn nation
Such a pretty sight to see
On the fire the world can be
The grand finale nobody asked for
It’s been a little bit touch and go
At the first you refused to know
Coming up on a little too late
Peggy Sue stole the mail truck again.
She called it direct action, and then
She lost my grandpa’s medicine,
My water bill was late,
She shredded wedding invitations
And she did not hesitate.
Peggy Sue stole the mail truck again.
We didn’t know if it was crickets or tinnitus that kept her up at night.
But don’t we all know that feeling in those lonely hours when something isn’t right?
Call it fate, call it karma, call it anything but boredom.
I mean that’s what it is, but no need to put too fine a point on it.
Peggy Sue stole the mail truck again.
She called it a Saturday well spent.
She threw out my aunt’s thank you notes
And spat upon the census,
She delivered all our love letters
But to the wrong addresses.
Peggy Sue stole the mail truck again.
She tampers with forever stamps,
Covered envelopes with gum,
Rubs together eager hands,
She’s only just begun!
And just about three days ago
Our Peggy lost her job.
Better pay for overnight
For it won’t be long…
But who could ever tell what might set her off?
It changes every time.
The one thing that we can tell you all for sure is that you’ll be fine,
But for those of us stuck here it’s just a simple fact of life.
It’s just another day with our local postal parasite.
So we sigh!
Peggy Sue stole the mail truck again.
She thinks the task is just her bent.
She ignores the fragile stickers
And throws packages about,
She signs her name on each petition so that there can be no doubt:
Peggy Sue stole the mail truck again.
Peggy Sue stole the mail truck again.
Peggy Sue stole the mail truck again.
Peggy Sue stole the mail truck again.