Carl Sagan and his calm attitude
Things are going well, friends coming home
And me, I'll be there soon
And it's hot, and these clothes are wearing thin
And I'm writing backwards on a tree
And I'm carving letters on this tree

He's sleeping with bark chips on his tongue
And he's dreaming that his mouth tastes like blood
Now you're it, chasing chain link fences on our own
And no one, no one gives a fuck what we'll become

Pay attention
Pay attention
Pay attention
Pay attention

And I'm writing backwards on this tree
And I'm viewing the cosmos from our street
And I'm tracing letters of this tree
And I'm riding backwards down our street
And I'm riding backwards down our street
And I'm riding backwards down our street