of all the days we've got we should be screaming out...
of all the days we've got we should be singing..

we're just minding our business instead of minding our minds
in times when the storms will ravage your clothes,
the sound and the color could render you blind
and the throes of a nightmare can sing you to sleep
then some foreign machine wakes you up at a mean hour
but heaven is there, it's under your hair,
it hides in the noon noise way up in the air















































