ALBUM: OUT OF THE WOODS
We’re cartographers, we’re astronomers
We map the ground, we look up to the sky
We man the monitors, then with our binoculars
We watch for what might go awry
Sometimes we smile, sometimes we sing
Sometimes we wonder who’s pulling the strings
It’s hard not to notice that things might get worse
As we spin around in this big universe
We’re filibusters, spiny rock lobsters
We may stall, sometimes we crawl away
We’re choreographers and room thermometers
We watch our step and still we make mistakes
Sometimes we balk and sometimes we dance
sometimes wonder if we’re in a trance
Sometimes we laugh and sometimes we yell
What we might need is a good counter spell—well
We want what’s pleasant, the rest we’d avoid
We try our luck and get stuck and annoyed
So much to do and so little time
And we’re surprised when things work out fine
We cut our grasses and pay our taxes
We bat our lashes and fight the Fascists
We tell our tales from back in the day
Sometimes we have to just turn away
Sometimes we smile, sometimes we’re proud
Sometimes we stand up and sing right out loud
It’s hard not to notice that things might get worse
As we spin around in this big universe
