Oh, yeah, happy May Day.

There was a knockin’ at my door
It’s the dreaded landlord
He wants his rent and wants it now, he is careless how
He left us in a vacant daze, asking how we got here.
And we retired to slumber but, the glasses never were rinsed.

There was a tappin’ on my back
It’s the dreaded foreman
I think I see a smile through his teeth and his cigar
He put my hands to work and said I'd otherwise do nothin’
And I made a thousand things today, I’m sure I’ll never use.

There was a ringin’ on my phone
I picked it up to answer, they said they were my comrade.
But they couldn’t say my name
So I asked them about the sun and moon
And what their thoughts on time were
They hung it up in madness and went on to punch the clock

And somewhere there’s a sound of someone singing
I got an invitation once to liberty
They had a mischief brew but, no goblets were used
Besting rum or porter ’tis a liquor never brewed.

There was a knockin’ at my door
It’s the dreaded policemen
He had a ticket to enter signed by fools of Sanford laws
And he questioned me on politics and scorned my generation
For not respecting elders and lands authority

When the landlord came to knock,
I said “Come back tomorrow
There’s more life I’ll be living than just slaving for your wage
And to the troop and foreman.
Make yourself the things I don’t use.
For I’m off into the forest for a liquor never brewed!”

Today I'm following the sound sound of someone singing
I got an invitation once to liberty
They had a mischief brew but, no goblets were used
Besting rum or porter ’tis a liquor never brewed

Listen to it here.

Wedge a stone in the gears of the clockworks, try to keep us from acting our age

Maybe it's the stress from finals and the dread of working at Taco Bell for an entire summer, maybe it's the encroaching food shortage and oil crash, maybe it's all the Mischief Brew I've been listening to or all the Baudrillard...but after I graduate next winter (okay, the spring afterwards, since it's going to be cold and snowy), I really do want to be some sort of anarcho-primitive gypsy and see if I can live off the land. Just live in a little shack in the woods and have a garden and spend my free time reading and writing. Dig out my typewriter. No computer. Phone for emergencies only. Learn to play the guitar or some ridiculously easy instrument instead of listening to CDs. Maybe see if these people have openings for 2009. Even if it's just for a few months.