Metal shell rings by
On the picture, on our street
Look at the astral skies
Peering down in the deep unseen
Took ten hours to decide
Whether to stay or to leave the nice
Let not blood son of mine
He sells his soul on the outer side

I've never seen the daytime
I tour the ground below
I always fear a homeless
My life is hexagone

Is the crimson mind
Medical myopia?
This apparatus is fine, dear God
Trying to mend our dystopia

I've never seen the daytime
I tour the ground below
I always fear the homeless
My life is hexagone

Futic [?] tubes all cry
Sounding like a grenade in there
Summer poplets being tried in God
Now there's not much lighter air
Let our captains fly
Desert of Mongolia
Centuries gone by
This was our Utopia

I've never seen the daytime
I tour the ground below
I always fear the homeless
My life is hexagone