Pangaea

please tell me what you're doing here

a mile 'neath the troposphere

the pirates and the mutineers

take solace in their lies

I'm terrified of what might change

so, I hold tight to the mountain range

until the experts start to say

they're moving in the night

And naval vessels underneath

the crashing waves and coral reefs

all marginal in their defeat

are swimming in the wake

of wartime promises behind

the resources and border lines

to charge forth from the highway signs

of hometowns and red states

Let's strip it down to what we are

just pulsing blood and magma scars

philosophers will lead the charge

away from truth and grace

But in Pangaea I will sit

An unrepentant dualist

humanity and earth exist

separate but the same

Plate tectonics, tapestry

the dualistic death of me

I'll fly away into the sea

if it is still around

so shift with me and let us call

the communists and capital

just what they are, a rubber ball

that's always going to bounce

it's friction that keeps me alive

as oil revenues survive

technology and suicide

they travel hand in hand

and in the streets the children play

pretending that they're heads of state

but they never emancipate

the slavery of man

so take me down to paradise

the seaboards shift and foliage climbs

the sun burns red like traffic lights

and wind ruffles my hair

and here, I'm starting my campaign

to find somewhere to place the blame

of all those nightmares that I face

that linger in the air

now, fault lines fade and eagles fly

judiciaries shut their eyes

and think about the better times

when everything was green

now darkness isn't far away

from small, complacent border states

let's hope the demographics change

So we can find the mean

But from my tower I can see

the colorful menagerie

the circus choreography

the chances that we take

for freedom is a clever lie

for what is it to compromise

and find something to hide behind

when the angry titans wake

No, nothing will I hope to gain

no wars to win, no land to claim

we're only what our hands have made

and it's not looking grand

but one sweet voice now shines like gold

the liveliest, if truth be told

all martyrdom and manifold

regards me as a man

"oh, struggle not, you self made king

you overreaching boyish thing

the legislation that you dream

it will not get you home

for life is yours if you so choose

extended forth with life to lose

here in these hands, I hold the truth

that you are not alone."