Throw me down a line, pull me off the streetplay the role of judge to the green little kids.
From stage to stage and coast to coast
most are the same, I beg you to boast
about one little band that is the secret,
Lying alone in the whispering trees
with the smoke signal warning -
reviewers are pacing -
racking their brains for the metaphor racing.
Songs glittered with struggle, did they not know
what more there was to come?
Oh my brothers, it has only just begun.
