Ways of being, somehow impervious to irony The I is seeing
No-longer malleable to chivalry The tyres are singing on the broken bits of bitumen
The clouds are bringing a dearth of mental acumen Somehow stuck
Movement involuntary Out of luck, potent idiosyncrasy Read the riot act
And it didn't ring untrue Hypochondriac, what's this insolent to do
Looking down onto the green grass from a plane that is now yawing
I am yawning in the clouds, I am ignoring all the warnings
Looking down upon the rubble I am drifting and descending
There's a meaning I am bending
Neurons firing in all the wrong directions
Now all the bets are off, just not making the connections
Ways of being somehow impervious to irony
The I is seeing, gently shrugging off its history