Seaweed

I drive a yellow Volvo. '86 submarine. Someone's behind me 
in an escalade trying to blind me with their high beams. I 
make a left. I'm the road to nowhere, heading west. The sky
 is purple streaks. The sun is setting in my chest. I feel 
warm inside. So I'm going for a ride. Put your picture on 
my dashboard 'til my fate and your collides.

Seaweed washed upon the shore.
Severed locks of he who walks the ocean floor.

I drive a yellow Volvo. '86 submarine. Rims like Tibetan 
prayer wheels and my tank is filled with dreams. Fuck the 
game, I practice being in the passing lane. And watch the 
price of gasoline rise with the price of fame. I'm 
immortal. I render unto Ceasar to be cordial. He sees a 
wooden casket where I see a glowing portal. Check your 
engine. Looks like you're running on the blood of Indians. 
Put some turquoise in that rolls Royce before you crash 
into a pendulum.

Seaweed washed upon the shore.
Severed locks of he who walks the ocean floor.

I drive a yellow Volvo. '86 submarine. I drove it under 
water guided by my own high beams. Nothing's left. 
Witnessed the demolition of the west. I feel like a little 
kid hiding in my mothers' dress. I'm in space. The lone 
ambassador of every race. The starfish that discover me 
plant their flags into my face. I'm a clone of every 
written and unwritten poem. A shark pulls up beside me 
fingering beads and chanting om. I can't believe it. I 
never really thought that sharks would need it. I thought 
they'd make their peace: bite it, bleed it, kill it, eat 
it. But I was wrong. Every living being deserves a song. 
And our passions must be rationed 'til our rations sing 
along.