Airplane sliding through the inky sky Highway an amoeba on its slide Trains beneath the pavement watch the tunnels slip by All sailing to the city in a slow glide.
In pixillated passages there are corridors of hope Doors with destinations to decide Through canyons of corruption both up and down the slope We traverse our little landscape in a slow glide
You can liberate your life from it's sticky routine Manacles are fastened from the inside
Vistas in the distance still remaining to be seen as we fall into our future in a slow glide
Every man falls down tries to find his way is found his way is here with us now and finds his way is not alone