Lando Wrong Sir. Wrong!
In this town where I’ll live and die in
I’ve struggled to find the strength to confide in
No laws no rules no small black text,
Just the gnawing notion that “Kid, you’ve f..cked up this”
In this town where the faces come and go like years
So much more lies beyond trees and power lines
A work in progress you pray to God will end
Is this your home? Or are you playing pretend?
You can hide behind the incisions, behind the ink and lead
Try to stop the minute hands, from ticking in your head
I’ve been having this reoccurring Midwestern kind of dream
Telling me right this way kid, we’ll make you clean.
Remember the way things used to be
Surrender, we’ll make you clean