Half Harvest

<br>I don`t care that you won`t quit this notion<br>of burying the carnival<br>but what the hell is in your potion<br>that`s made you so dull?<br>So I cannot make a blind from sawdust<br>much less a cool millennium, but I`d<br>much rather feel the heat of August<br>than be sheltered and numb<br> So move out of your bed of roses, now<br> I`m putting in a bed of nails,<br> `cause missiles, guns and rubber hoses<br> will land me in jail<br>This paradise is slowly crumbling<br>from here to Wilshire Boulevard<br>but the rubble over which you are stumbling<br>just isn`t that hard<br>What did you do with all that grace, now?<br>what did you do with all my wine?<br>what makes you think that just `cause you dress bright<br>it means that you shine?<br> So move out of your bed of roses now<br> I`m putting in a bed of nails<br> `cause when this whole production closes<br> this innocence fails<br> (and weren`t we supposed to)<br>SHINE...like half harvest never shone<br>SHINE...like half harvest never known.