They call my home the bad lands, the map it looks like etch-a-sketch;
There's monuments to history, of those things I'm aware.
I've been in love with what I know, well maybe not 'Adoka';
But it's funny how my eyes have grown, they've caught up with my mind.
Take the first ride out, the prospect looks so in;
Oh yes, well I don't know, from this, from this, Great state Ataxia.
Snake eyes die with happy smiles, need a whistling tune for when I go;
Keep hoping there's a golden rule, by which to play the part.
Strapped for cash, but happy, with following my leader;
Knowing there's a pit stop, around the next blockade.
To leave Ataxia, only a handful;
All the names you read out loud, all the lives that they surround.
Lift me from the rooftops, blow me to the ground
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