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Ayatollah of Coca-Cola
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I'm still playing in the field of rye
I haven't tumbled off the cliff
Scraped my hands on the jagged and stiff
Down the mountain where others fall and die

I'm still entranced by the lavish shine
I haven't stumbled off the path
And swam with ducks in the lava bath
And picked up the scraps where others dine

I'm still a stranger in this very strange land
I haven't been adopted by the mother tongue
I aimlessly climb from the bottom rung
With the dimes and nickels preserved in my hand

I haven't wandered too close to the brink of insanity
The edge of existence where the confident drown
With subtle resistance through the dark part of town
I haven't eulogized life with their kind of profanity

There is swordplay beneath the mountain
Cutthroat tactics and lip service
Fistfuls of cash enough to hold you nervous
Those thirsty for youth take up space by the fountain

Be brave, little one, for the pathway down is fierce
Hounds and wolves run roughshod over the lobby
Your best incentive is to take up a hobby
Your eyes they will characterize, your ears they will pierce

The stones you fall onto will break more than your fall
If you have stayed in the field, none of this will be
Factored into your reality
Stay perched upon the pedestal though you are a porcelain doll

Too many barter their innocence for a taste of new soul
Jumping off the cliff to make a name for themselves
Like oiled-up statues slipping off shelves
When we've been auditioning our whole lives to land this role

Stowaways will never pay as long as they can hide away
Parasites will feast as long as hosts will provide the yeast
Divers will dive as long as they can be alive
Passengers will never die as long as pilots can fly
 
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