Fish bait humans into things they can’t get out of.
Never stopped to wonder if they’d still swim.
It’s all about halfway to the brim,
so how would you like to look at it?
Saturdays, she’s walkin’ ‘round town,
talkin’ to clowns about his head.
She’s still in bed with plenty of room to roll around.
Big bed rolling down a street,
with plenty of reasons to roll around.
Whispers of, ‘get going.
distance is not knowing.’
Crooked teeth trudge back to showing
time that smiles can out fight anything.
I’ve seen it with my own eyes.
Little goldfish, just breathe.
Why you swimming upstream?
Little dive in, wrong time, with me.
The current was a little too strong.
A little stronger than it was supposed to be.
Swear this fish could walk on land,
had plenty of room to roll around and
I’m sure I’ll never see anything quite like it again.
Little goldfish, one day, gonna be my friend.
One of these days roll around, downstream,
walking, jumping on beds,
with ceilings too high to hit our heads.
Stuck in nothing and we couldn’t get out of it.
Am I who’s still in bed?
We never dreamed we’d get by.
Swear that goldfish will fly.
Just gotta stop walkin’ upstream.
Gotta stop walkin’
back to where we’ve already been.
this is your life chuck johnson 