Soothsayer, dream taker
Call him what you like
This wise, old mystic shuns foolishness,
Mortality’s in his sights
But so it goes,
this itch is driving me insane
Oh how he knows to push
my buttons, pull my chain
But this entrancement
may be a tempest in a teapot.
Rising up at the break of dawn
For the umpteenth time
He crosses the channel
between the realms,
His muse by his side
But so it goes,
this itch is driving me insane
Oh how he knows to push
my buttons, pull my chain
But this entrancement
may be a tempest in a teapot.
That nonsensical man
With boyish heart,
runs ‘cross the plains
Wishing for a mountaintop
His footing in mood wanes.
But so it goes,
this itch is driving me insane
Oh how he knows to push
my buttons, pull my chain
But this entrancement
may be a tempest in a teapot.
His voice eludes me,
The song of his heart,
When do you feel it?
When do you stop?
His voice eludes me,
The song of his heart,
When do you feel it?
When do you stop?
Conjures tasks to steady his hands
From shaking out in pain.
His mind’s follies are genius spun
From questioning the sane
But so it goes,
this itch is driving me insane
Oh how he knows to push
my buttons, pull my chain
But this entrancement
may be a tempest in a teapot.