Everybodys jumping on the circus train. Some jump high, some jump off again. And the razzmatazz is rolling, women folk unveiled. All truths to light, all crosses nailed. Aiming high where the eagle circles, where he keeps his tail feathers clean. And wonders Am I still a free bird? Or just a part of the machine. They hitch their covered wagons and they roll out west. Politics in the pockets of their Sunday best. Shaking hands, kissing babies, for all that theyre worth. they promise you gold, promise heaven on earth. Still, that old bald eagle circles, its not the first time that hes seen his reflection in the eyes of innocence. Hes become just another part of the machine, part of the machine. I wish I had an eagle like you to look up to. He could be my wings to fly in a big bird sky up above the whole machine. Part of the machine. Part of the machine. Smart guys arent running theyre home and dry. Up in the mountains where the eagle flies. They wouldnt take that job offered on a plate. They got to fly with the eagle, and he wont wait. Looking down on the smoke and the factories till the truth creeps up unseen. They see themselves in the faces of their children and realize they too are part of the machine. Part of the machine. I wish I had an eagle like you to wake up to. He could be my wings to fly in a big bird sky, hey lets be part of the machine. Part of the machine. Part of the machine. Part of the machine. Part of the machine. Part of your machine. Part of your machine. Part of your machine. Part of your machine.
Posted on: Sat, 30 Aug 2014 01:36:18 +0000