Out of Hand

It’s out of hand.
Breathing like you’re stoking a fire.
It’ll never end.
Pounding like a bull with desire.
You’re taking bait and leaving all the hooks in a pile.
She’s over it,
but she’s been around for a while.
Crack the whip.
Put a little smoke on the floor.
You can’t tell if she’s going or coming,
but you build it up twice as tall.
There’s loose ends,
and ends that are tight like a trapeze wire.
You try to put it delicately,
but it always rushes out.
There’s got to be a metaphor for the time we’re in.
There’s got to be an answer to define how we’ll make it.
There’s got to be a metaphor for the time we’re in.
There’s got to be an answer to define how we’ll make it.
It’s out of hand.
Breathing like you’re stoking a fire.
It’ll never end.
You’re full of desire
There’s loose ends,
and ends like a wire.
And it’ll never end
Until it blows out
There’s got to be a metaphor for the time we’re in.
There’s got to be an answer to define how we’ll make it.
There’s got to be a metaphor for the time we’re in.
There’s got to be an answer to define how we’ll make it.
There’s got to be a metaphor
for the time.