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Music by Rusty Smith, Norris Lozano and Richard Merrick
Lyrics and lead vocals by Richard Merrick
Audio recording and mix by Rusty Smith
Music composed, performed and recorded in mostly single takes (over the course of one day) during a retreat to a mountain cabin in Big Bear, California. The guiding philosophy was to let the music flow intuitively, which it certainly did in response to the stock market falling 504 points that same day.
Copyright © 2008 shared by Rusty Smith, Norris Lozano and Richard Merrick
He’s creeping, he’s sweeping, it under the rug,
He’s keeping all his secrets under there,
He’s lifting, the edge, unlatching the door,
He’s raising up the heavy wooden square.
He’s sprawling, he’s crawling, he’s falling down the stairs,
He’s working very hard to not give in,
He’s keeping, it close, hidden under his hat,
He’s keeping what he knows until the end.
Below us, is a world, that none of us can see,
Below us are some people wearing black,
Below, in the floor, they whisper awfully low,
Below they work on planning their attack.
They’re listening, insisting, while new men are enlisting,
They’re gearing up to take us on a war,
They’re thirsting, to find, a nuclear gold mine,
They’re pushing on the button for some more.
And they’re choosing, their battles
They’re picking up speed
Aiming at an angle
At a high velocity
And they’re gaming the system
Pulling out the plugs
They’re sending in the missiles
From underneath the rug
The tumblers, are tumbling, the money’s running out,
The credit cards are falling on the floor,
The printers, are printing a 5, trillion dollar debt,
The bankers are the first ones out the door.
Above us, an Airbus, flying in the clouds,
Above us are the people put in charge,
Beneath them in the sky, contrails drifting up on high
Beneath them are their shadows getting large.
Nothing can be said,
We can’t say a word
It’s all been said,
and nothing can be heard
You know they’ll only say
“I don’t recall that day”
It weighs, it weighs, it weighs, it weighs!
On people wearing shades of gray.
In outer space, a race, to see who owns the void
In cyberspace, we Photoshop the moon
In inner space, no soul, only social control
In under space, are sleeping oil tycoons
We’re twisting, existing, our psyche not resisting
We’re just another scare away from fear
We’re looking, away, as if we want to say
“We’re hoping a messiah would appear.”