It gets so foggy
And goes on and on and on
And the rain stops and the sirens, they turn on.
They tell me it’s misty. I hear them complain.
They tell me it’s not what you see. I hear them explain.
She said a sage came to her in her dreams
And told her of these magnetic schemes.
There is beauty in its breakdown
There is a tire swing on the tree
But the yellow brick road,
Are you real or do I keep pretending?
