We grapple with great mysteries
“What makes a saint or sinner?”
But the deepest question that we ask
Is often, “What’s for dinner?”
We like to set the style
We live to make the scene
But nothing is so comforting
Quite like the old routine
Each morning when I think of work
Make my bed and suit up
I just want to be certain
My computer’s gonna boot up
The price of gas will be increased
The sun keeps rising in the east
If you prick me, I will bleed
That’s a Californian’s creed
And though I think I know what’s what
The evidence is mounting
There’s more that I’m not sure of
Than the stuff on which I’m counting
Today they’re all condemning
Who just yesterday was god
The mighty fall in moments
And I find that rather odd
When you put up a statue
You stick it in cement
You don’t think in a week or two
You’ll wonder where it went
Things like these teach old and young
To close their minds and hold their tongue
Issues cannot be discussed
‘Cause no one knows who they can trust
I don’t treat with conspiracies
But I can tell you, man
No one may be plotting
But it sure looks like a plan
PS:
We’ve traded furs and leathers
For plastics, fakes and vinyls
One thing is for certain though
The Cavs are in the Finals
