My paradise is neutral, a sleek silver comet dream. Your kids line up to see it, a florescent plastic whim. You're wearing white at a funeral for lightning, lighting up the way down. My head tears in two wanting to be something i'm not . . . not just lying awake now. So light up the way down. Lets take a drink for every gone forgotten dream. Lets rate the dead 1 through 10, hoping they enjoy the peace. And again lines on their faces show their ages. Well my heart turns back to wanting, to be somewhere I'm not, not just lying awake now.