Well I've been getting to know the spare bedrooms and floors
And bars across the USA
I feel shaken and stirred and slightly absurd
From every bump and bounce of the interstate
When I say I want to fill my bus with their cooking oil
Restaurant owners don't know what I mean
But I'm pickin' and singin', slippin' and slidin'
And rolling in this well-oiled machine
(chorus:)
My machine, my machine, my machine
Riding a well-oiled machine
Its gears are worn in by years of steady climbin'
Let's move like a well-oiled machine
Its gears are worn in from years of steady climbin'
Let's roll like a well-oiled machine
It feels like everywhere I step and everything I buy
Results in imbalance or pain
The muck and the mess, the dying and the death
Is hidden behind gas pumps and cellophane
Well I just need a way to get home
Past the changing shades of purple, blue and green
What the restaurant kitchens dump, I want to pump
To fill the tank of my well-oiled machine
(chorus)
I once heard a man speak from his heart
About the lord, the army, and LSD
He said the sun never sets on the guns of America
And all water flows to the sea
Yeah he looked me in the eye by the interstate sign
And said may hope lead you to peace
Keep it low and slow don't forget to reap what you sow
And keep your machine well greased
(chorus) |
