Growin up in a biosphere
|
with no respect for bad weather
|
there's still roaches and ants in here
|
so resourceful and clever.
|
Her greatgrandfather saw the future
|
didn't know nothing bout panic,
|
he certainly probably thought
|
that it was unthinkable.
|
There's a trace o mint
|
wafting in from the north
|
so we don't fuck with the 401
|
it's bigger than us or
|
larger than we bargained
|
I guess it's just not done.
|
His greatgrandfather worked for Goodyear
|
he'd see the blimp on Sundays
|
wonder what the driver knew
|
about making rubber tires.
|
Terrarium, O Terrarium
|
|
There's submarines out there under the ice
|
avoiding and courting collision
|
an accident's sometimes the only way
|
to worm our way back to bad decisions,
|
My greatgrandfather was a welder
|
he helped to build the Titanic
|
he didn't certainly think
|
that is was unsinkable.
|
Building up to the larger point
|
with an arrogance not rare or pretty
|
we don't declare the war on idleness
|
when outside it's cold and shitty.
|
We stay inside and try to conjure the fathers of
|
injured and faking
|
if there's glory in miracles
|
it's that they're reversible
|
Terrarium,
|
|
-----------------
|
Titantic Terrarium
|
| Tragically Hip |
