Limelight

Living on a lighted stage approaches the unreal for those who think and feel
in touch with some reality beyond the gilded cage.
Cast in this unlikely role, ill-equipped to act with insufficient tact,
one must put up barriers to keep oneself intact.
Living in the limelight, the universal dream for those who wish to seem.
Those who wish to be must put aside the alienation, get on with the
fascination,
the real relation, the underlying theme.

Living in a fisheye lens, caught in the camera eye, I have no heart to lie,
I can't pretend this stranger is a long-awaited friend.
All the world's indeed a stage and we are merely players, performers and
portrayers,
each another's audience outside the gilded cage.
Living in the limelight, the universal dream for those who wish to seem.
Those who wish to be must put aside the alienation, get on with the
fascination,
the real relation, the underlying theme.



Closer To The Heart

And the men who hold high places must be the ones to start
to mould a new reality closer to the heart, closer to the heart.

The blacksmith and the artist reflect it in their art.
Forge their creativity closer to the heart, closer to the heart.

Philosophers and plowmen, each must know his part
to sow a new mentality closer to the heart, closer to the heart.

You can be the captain and I will draw the chart,
sailing into destiny, closer to the heart, closer to the heart, closer to=

your heart…



The Trees

There is unrest in the forest, there is trouble with the trees,
for the maples want more sunlight and the oaks ignore their pleas.

The trouble with the maples, and they're quite convinced they're right,
they say the oaks are just too lofty and they grab up all the light.
But the oaks can't help their feelings if they like the way they're made.
And they wonder why the maples can't be happy in their shade.

There is trouble in the forest, and the creatures all have fled,
as the maples scream ‘Oppression!’ And the oaks just shake =
their heads.

So the maples formed a union and demanded equal rights.
"The oaks are just too greedy, we will make them give us light."
Now there's no more oak oppression for they passed a noble law,
and the trees are all kept equal by hatchet, axe, and saw.


Spirit of the Radio

Begin the day with a friendly voice, a companion unobtrusive
plays the song that's so elusive and the magic music makes your morning moo=
d.
Off on your way, hit the open road, there is magic at your fingers.
For the Spirit ever lingers, undemanding contact in your happy solitude.
Invisible airwaves crackle with life, bright antennae bristle with the
energy.
Emotional feedback on timeless wavelength, bearing a gift beyond price,
almost free.

All this machinery making modern music can still be open-hearted.
Not so coldly charted, it's really just a question of your honesty, yeah,=

your honesty.
One likes to believe in the freedom of music,
but glittering prizes and endless compromises shatter the illusion of
integrity.
Invisible airwaves crackle with life, bright antennae bristle with the
energy.
Emotional feedback on timeless wavelength, bearing a gift beyond price,
almost free.

For the words of the profits were written on the studio wall, concert halls
and echoes with the sounds of salesmen, salesmen, oh, salesmen.


Freewill

There are those who think that life has nothing left to chance,
a host of holy horrors to direct our aimless dance.
A planet of playthings, we dance on the strings of powers we cannot perceiv=
e.
"The stars aren't aligned or the gods are malign," blame is better to give=

than receive.
You can choose a ready guide in some celestial voice.
If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.
You can choose from phantom fears and kindness that can kill.
I will choose a path that's clear, I will choose freewill.

There are those who think that they were dealt a losing hand,
the cards were stacked against them, they weren't born in Lotus-Land.
All preordained, a prisoner in chains a victim of venomous fate.
Kicked in the face, you can't pray for a place in heaven's unearthly estate.
You can choose a ready guide in some celestial voice.
If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.
You can choose from phantom fears and kindness that can kill.
I will choose a path that's clear, I will choose freewill.

Each of us, a cell of awareness, imperfect and incomplete.
Genetic blends with uncertain ends on a fortune hunt that's far too fleet.
You can choose a ready guide in some celestial voice.
If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.
You can choose from phantom fears and kindness that can kill.
I will choose a path that's clear, I will choose freewill.


Tom Sawyer

A modern-day warrior, mean, mean stride, today's Tom Sawyer, mean, mean
pride.
Though his mind is not for rent, don't put him down as arrogant.
His reserve, a quiet defense, riding out the day's events. The river.
What you say about his company is what you say about society.
Catch the mist, catch the myth catch the mystery, catch the drift.
The world is, the world is, love and life are deep, maybe as his skies are=

wide.

Today's Tom Sawyer, he gets high on you and the space he invades, he gets b=
y
on you.
No, his mind is not for rent to any god or government.
Always hopeful, yet discontent, he knows changes aren't permanent, but chan=
ge
is.
What you say about his company is what you say about society.
Catch the witness, catch the wit, catch the spirit, catch the spit.
The world is, the world is, love and life are deep, maybe as his skies are=

wide.

Exit the warrior, today's Tom Sawyer, he gets high on you,
and the energy you trade he gets right on to the friction of the day.


Red Barchetta

My uncle has a country place that no one knows about.
He says it used to be a farm before the Motor Law.
And on Sundays I elude the eyes and hop the Turbine Freight
to far outside the Wire where my white-haired uncle waits.

Jump to the ground as the turbo slows to cross the borderline.
Run like the wind as excitement shivers up and down my spine.
Down in his barn, my uncle preserved for me an old machine, for fifty-odd=

years.
To keep it as new has been his dearest dream.

I strip away the old debris that hides a shining car.
A brilliant red Barchetta from a better, vanished time.
I fire up the willing engine, responding with a roar.
Tires spitting gravel, I commit my weekly crime.

Wind in my hair, shifting and drifting, mechanical music adrenaline surge.

Well-weathered leather, hot metal and oil, the scented country air,
sunlight on chrome, the blur of the landscape, every nerve aware.

Suddenly ahead of me, across the mountainside,
a gleaming alloy air-car shoots towards me, two lanes wide.
I spin around with shrieking tires, to run the deadly race,
go screaming through the valley as another joins the chase.

Drive like the wind, straining the limits of machine and man.
Laughing out loud with fear and hope, I've got a desperate plan.
At the one-lane bridge I leave the giants stranded at the riverside.
Race back to the farm, to dream with my uncle at the fireside.




http://www.egodeath.com/rushlyrics.htm