Remember Nelson? we've got to flee from this damn town, the whitened smiles and fabric skies, we've got to hit the ground running, never friends in this sea of lies swiping off the stinging sweat from all our faces, that churns into blood, from the haste of our races, our races with our pocketed prayers, and our fists all made of clay, we go to work, pulling on a pulley, to raise a big sun from our crates with our pocketed prayers, and our mothers tears in faith, we go to work, pulling on a pulley, to raise a big sun from our crates, yeah, we've already lost the race, oh, please don't make the haste