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The Gone Jackals
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Wild Hair
Type A , Type T ,
call it what you will.
Dead calm, snake charm,
just can t get my fill.
I can t say that I don t scare -
but that just turns me on.
So hard to lay in bed, idling, while the world keeps turning.
Down time is for the dead - sleep is time lost forever.
Some suspect a wild hair,
a wild hair
up there.
Solid man, humanitarian,
boy, how I try.
But my weeds impede
the path on that climb.
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Everything that is clear to me
are things that no one sees.
What others understand only serves to confuse me.
Whatever others dread never fails to ignite me.
Some suspect a wild hair,
a wild hair
oh, yeah.
Why can t I let up?
My neck s as stiff as stone.
One whiff o new land -
and I m gone.
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