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Carousel November morning, Sky’s warm to the touch I’m running down the stairs Just trying to keep up A couple close calls on the freeway, A couple times I think I’m down And I drive down past the scaffolds, cranes, and the signs People here won’t just feed the earth, they won’t try The places for me Not where they’re supposed to be anymore And it’s all just a mirror to my own runaround Cupid’s stuck inside now, he’s trying to get out Open the door for me, This isn’t where I want to be, he says And the weekends are filled with the act Of dressing and toasting the death of the calf It’s only a matter of time Before you walk down the aisle And the sky rains down White flowers and bassinets Won’t help to keep the primrose path out of my head No the pleasures of the unknown Put their weight into my soul