lirik lagu nobuddyisperfect - the clog that slipped
[verse 1]
sunrise paints the soot~stained glass a shade of weary grey
another shift, another day to earn your place and pay
the great machine demands its toll, a mind of brass and steam
to fit the mould, to play the role, to k!ll the waking dream
and i see ’em marching, one by one, their faces blank and set
on futures that were forged and spun before they’d even met…
i try to march… i try to learn… i try to stand in line…
but there’s a hum, a frantic burn in this chaotic mind of mine
[verse 2]
teacher’s droning, brass and chrome
but my mind has left its home
it’s chasing steam~kites through the dome
and tracing maps on ancient tome
he’s talking gears and piston~thrust
and i’m thinking ’bout the rust
and how the city turns to dust
a matter of betrayed trust
a cogent argument he makes
on leverage and force
but my attention span just breaks
and gallops off~course like a horse
that’s seen a snake, for goodness sake
the lecture starts to bend and blur
a million tiny thoughts awake
and cause a silent, frantic stir!
[chorus]
they want a clockwork soldier
with a perfectly wound spring!
they want a soul that’s colder
and a simple song to sing!
but my thoughts are spiders
spinning threads you can’t unpick!
why can’t i make it stop?
why can’t i make it… tick?
[verse 3]
one thought ~ two thoughts
red thought ~ blue thought
new thought ~ who thought
you thought that would work?
look the foreman has a smirk
he sees the daydream and the quirk
he sees the dirt under my nails
from scratching patterns in the grime
i’m losing time, committing crimes
against the forward march of time
and time is money, time is work
and work is virtue, work is strength
i’ve gone the length and back again
to keep my focus but the fence
is broken and the sheep are out
they’re running wild inside my skull
a silent, screaming, manic shout
that makes the world outside feel dull!
[bridge]
and in the quiet…
after the storm subsides…
when all the frantic energy just hides…
a voice asks…
what if…
the glitch… is the art?
what if the broken gear is the beating heart?
what if the chaos isn’t a disease…
but a language spoken on a different breeze?
[outro]
the great machine keeps turning
it doesn’t notice one small cog that slipped its track
it doesn’t care. it has no feeling
and from down here… in the dirt… between the cracks…
i can finally see the sky
i can finally see all the beautiful, broken, useless things…
and i think…
i’m not the one who needs fixing
i’m not the one who needs fixing
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