It was I and I, sixth cycle, nine hundred and eighty-four,
Carol and I walked into Jesse’s Gift,
Asked how I was doing, so I told him,
I was reading the word, I was seeking his countenance,
And I feel like I’m tapping into the source,
He said that man’s ways are right in his own eyes…but right in their own right?
No one could care in this room if I died…if I died right in front of your eye,
I’d maybe get a second chance or a smile,
Don’t defame with little games,
The secret ways of Elohim: to walk transparent is an order,
In L.A., 1989.
But why me?
Why me?
When in distress, don’t test the spirits in the air or the comforter who guideth mine and I,
You may not get a second chance or a smile,
It’s like the drums keep breating rhythms to my brain,
La-de-da-de-de, La-de-da-de-da.
Why me?
Why me?
Well, I didn’t steal anything,
Well, I didn’t steal anything,
Well, I didn’t steal anything,
Well, I didn’t steal anything,
Well, I didn’t steal anything,
Well, I didn’t steal anything.
