I'm a lost prophet
With a marker and a compass
But no map to chart a path
And no determination to follow it
Nothing in my pocket
But a matchbook and a tract
Trying to make you turn your back
On the life you led that lacked
Any sorta substance
You just floated day to day
On a balloon filled with your apathy
That carried you away
And now you can't get down
Until you really want it
So I'm sitting with a megaphone
Whispering directions on how to pop it
I won't shoot it down
Until you nod consent
So I'm hoping that this beat is banging
Hard enough to make your necks bend
So fill me in
Does it sounds like it'd be fun
To play a helium version of William tell
You have the apple I have the gun
And without the shot more likely than not
You're never come back down
But until then I'll continue to stand
On this soapbox rooted to the ground and shout out loud.
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