There are tiers, as in levels, to reality
On the industrial corner of North 17th Street and Wythe
Two black public high school kids watch a nordic model get photographed
To them, she is lunar, impossible, alien life.
So as a comet might relate to a traffic-stop taxi cab
Or a Bahamas vacation to a stint in Guantanamo Bay
So as access and privilege relate to their absolute opposites
It's the way that these kids and this woman will always relate
And it's nobody's fault. Yeah no one's to blame.
We all work through the dark. We all carry the weight.
Slender shoulders and blindfolds spinning in cycles
Now, now, now: navigate!
There are tiers, as in layers, to an experience.
Through each lens and metric the image warps every day.
I'm either successful, independent, and largely uncompromised
Or a non-starter, never-was, has-been since 2008.
And it's nobody's fault. Yeah no one's to blame.
We all work through the dark. We all carry the weight.
Slender shoulders and blindfolds spinning in cycles
Now, now, now: navigate!
Instrumental: x2
There are tears, as in water-works, and they're threatening
To spoil the negotiated sweetness of my afternoon
I can't answer anything honestly without an asterisk
Air-quotes and doublespeak litter the fountain of youth.
And if it's nobody's fault, then I'm not to blame
I just work in the dark, I just carry the weight.
Slender shoulders and blindfolds stranded in cycles
Now, now, now: navigate!