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Carl Sagan and his calm attitudeThings are going well, friends coming homeAnd me, I'll be there soonAnd it's hot, and these clothes are wearing thinAnd I'm writing backwards on a treeAnd I'm carving letters on this treeHe's sleeping with bark chips on his tongueAnd he's dreaming that his mouth tastes like bloodNow you're it, chasing chain link fences on our ownAnd no one, no one gives a fuck what we'll becomePay attentionPay attentionPay attentionPay attentionAnd I'm writing backwards on this treeAnd I'm viewing the cosmos from our streetAnd I'm tracing letters of this treeAnd I'm riding backwards down our streetAnd I'm riding backwards down our streetAnd I'm riding backwards down our street Aus Songtexte Mania