raise your sword (Instrumental)
I keep looking over my right shoulder.
Something is different and I feel it... I feel it looking at me just over my right shoulder. Staring. Burrowing a hole into the back of my head - tunnel vision.
It's not malicious. Mischievous, perhaps? No, but it has something in mind...
Three go arounds. Break it down into seven parts. I even took one-shot. What is it up to? This is just the set-up.
Is it paranoia if it's true?
* * *
I'm leaning on a 5 iron. Or is it a 9? A driver? Fuck, I can't keep them all straight. It's a club, which is all you need to know.
"So," he says wiggling his ass like a pro, mock-shoting until he gets the feel right. "So," he says again, "You hear about that shark attacking the boat? Fifteen feet?"
"Yeh, I'm--" Don't worry, I finish that sentence later. But just then I get hit with a golf ball. "OW! Motherfucker!" I like to swear. "You said this place was small... you know, this isn't even a golf course. It's fucking Normandy Beach."
"Is that in Santa Monica?"
"Nevermind. So," He takes his shot and we watch it whistle into the air -- the wrong direction. We decide it'll save time if we just cheat. "So," I say again, "I'm convinced the shark wasn't attacking the boat, it was just trying to get on and catch a lift to land.
The ultimate predators have made the next evolutionary jump: Hitchhiking."
"It needed to get to the city for an interview."
"Yeh, pretty soon they'll all get jobs and work their way into managerial positions. Then, we least expected, we'll all get laid off."
"They'll take over while we're too busy looking for work."
"Like I said: The Ultimate Predator."
He laughs.
Something is different and I feel it... I feel it looking at me just over my right shoulder. Staring. Burrowing a hole into the back of my head - tunnel vision.
It's not malicious. Mischievous, perhaps? No, but it has something in mind...
Three go arounds. Break it down into seven parts. I even took one-shot. What is it up to? This is just the set-up.
Is it paranoia if it's true?
* * *
I'm leaning on a 5 iron. Or is it a 9? A driver? Fuck, I can't keep them all straight. It's a club, which is all you need to know.
"So," he says wiggling his ass like a pro, mock-shoting until he gets the feel right. "So," he says again, "You hear about that shark attacking the boat? Fifteen feet?"
"Yeh, I'm--" Don't worry, I finish that sentence later. But just then I get hit with a golf ball. "OW! Motherfucker!" I like to swear. "You said this place was small... you know, this isn't even a golf course. It's fucking Normandy Beach."
"Is that in Santa Monica?"
"Nevermind. So," He takes his shot and we watch it whistle into the air -- the wrong direction. We decide it'll save time if we just cheat. "So," I say again, "I'm convinced the shark wasn't attacking the boat, it was just trying to get on and catch a lift to land.
The ultimate predators have made the next evolutionary jump: Hitchhiking."
"It needed to get to the city for an interview."
"Yeh, pretty soon they'll all get jobs and work their way into managerial positions. Then, we least expected, we'll all get laid off."
"They'll take over while we're too busy looking for work."
"Like I said: The Ultimate Predator."
He laughs.