The air is a question an empty suggestion

Of unanswered pauses hinted at before

So see here it's beauty but some call it duty

She questions it rudely no different than before

Mistakes they don't mean nothing

At least she's learning something

She busts through Atlantis depressively manic

She curses the manna that's floating from the sky

The whole thing's an orgy all sweaty and largely

It's rooted in whispers and hinted in asides

You can call us worthless

Just don't call us mirthless

If she's a movie she's foreign and moody

And smoking tobacco meloncholically

She ain't wearing nothing emotions erupting

She's everyone's something periodically

I guess I hadn't listened but now I know it's christened

She seizes the meaning and renders it leaning

To absolutism poisoning itself

Narrative license has eaten the hyphen

Oh, god, let it ripen it's sitting on the shelf

And I ain't got the time

I ain't got the time

I just ain't got the time

I ain't got the time