Airplane sliding through the inky sky
Highway an amoeba on its slide
Trains beneath the pavement watch the tunnels slip by
All sailing to the city in a slow glide.
In pixillated passages there are corridors of hope
Doors with destinations to decide
Through canyons of corruption both up and down the slope
We traverse our little landscape in a slow glide
You can liberate your life from it's sticky routine
Manacles are fastened from the inside
Vistas in the distance still remaining to be seen
as we fall into our future in a slow glide
Every man falls down
tries to find his way
is found
his way is here with us now
and finds his way
is not
alone
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