Oil to the gears , Need your happy ,need those tears, This place has been run amuck , For all good intentions . Scrape the knees , Hands will bleed , But a running motor , Helps to breath , And half a lifetime won't live itself , To our fullest potential, Here's some wire , Not for fire , It's to tie down what still floats , Cause it's a city, Not a ocean,or a kite, When this said ,done ,and over, And the grass grows red clover, The sky will bow .. A little lower.