(Oh oh oh oh...) I took my middle name from my grandfather on my father’s side. He used to punctuate his hopeful anecdotes with “the good Lord willing, the cricks don’t rise.” Well, my hero died… and those cricks did rise. So it’s up to me and you to fight the pulverizing tides. It’s a simple thing. It’s a yes or no. Do you believe in the future, or if you’re on stable ground for now, are you happy to let things go? (Oh oh oh oh) Neither a borrower nor a lender be, another favorite creed by which he led his life. I tried to follow in his footsteps, but I’m one bad day away— good Lord willing, the cricks don’t rise… Good Lord… is there something I’m missing? Is this world not built for me? I feel like I’m under constant supervision from people who want nothing to do with the cameras someone put in their hands. Good Lord… willing the cricks don’t rise. Good Lord… willing the cricks don’t rise. Good Lord… willing the cricks don’t rise. Good God… I’m tired of the nonstop grind. Of looking behind to see no one on my side. they ask us to put our needs aside to please think of these greedy motherfuckers who own the water, the land and the sky… Would it be so bad to just unplug and relax? Let the river carry us downstream from everything, to stop believing in the sell, the shells moving so swiftly, our eyes pingpong chasing the money… It’s a simple thing. It’s a yes or no. Do you believe there’s a future, or are you content with the content of a past without context, and a present in which that stable ground will disappear when you’re gone? Good lord willing...
