This place is getting small
And I can smell incineration in the wind
I know where the smoke comes from
I didn't want to be
The stranger in the doorway
Holding a flickering match between my thumb and forefinger in a pyro maniacal OK sign
I made a choice by dropping it into your open baby bird mouth
To set my world aflame
After all
It is better to be a flea crying at an open coffin than the dog being buried in the back yard

This place is getting small
Gotta start floating in another direction towards where the shore is
Just to prove
My blood is not mechanical
I've been sleeping here too long
Soon I could
Start pulling the winter over my head
A smothering blanket
Keeping me sleeping and sleeping
In beds in cars in houses sometimes with spouses but always sickeningly alone
I could become like
All the love junkies
Sweating without the needles of the opposite genders' eyes
Funny though
They're twitching in padded rooms without an emotion they've never been intoxicated by
Just told by the digital heads they should be good little hallmark addicts

I want some sort of respite from the electric bright night
But like I said
I'd rather be a parasite than have them in my blood
So its time to flee
Before I regret feeding you that fire

Here I am here I am
Writing lyrics to songs whose singers I can't understand
Trying to explain
MY blood is not mechanical

I think I'll wander the desert
And I'll make sure it aint gonna be biblical

This place is getting small
Then lets go
The engines are running smooth for now

Nothing small about the desert and definitely a new terrain....blistering heat, freezing cold, overwhelming winds and duststorms and one of the beautiful gifts the world has to offer....

huh? ull notice my narrarator is not in the desert yet