Pale New Summer
There are no new stories, or so they say
But again, who would need them anyway?
It's such a busy job accumulating stuff
That to ponder something different would just make things rough.
And so we relax
In fields of grass
We dream will one day be paved,
And it's a bright fine day for a pale new summer
Where the things that sustain us are all hand-made,
And though the years will still turn, we will not grow older;
No, the pale new sunset will never fade.
In a plastic world there's so much to choose
But luckily our sculptures tell us what to do:
What we ought to have, what's our due in this age.
We take the freedoms given us and build ourselves a cage.
And so we relax
In cities of wax
And think they can never be changed,
And it's a bright fine day for a pale new summer
Where the dreams that sustain us are all hand-made,
And though the years will still turn, we will not grow older;
No, the pale new sunset will never fade.
[3 lines in a low, quiet, monotone]
And so we relax
In shops of frail glass
And never dream that we're enslaved.
And it's a bright fine day for a pale new summer
Where the things that sustain us are all hand-made,
And though the years will still turn, we will not grow older;
No, the pale new sunset will never fade.
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