Something Else

I’m on the road, it’s easy with my new navigation device.
A lady’s voice is coaching me “Turn right in point two miles.”
But oh, I miss the proper turn and now my lane is lost.
The urban sprawl is spreading on with asphalt and exhaust.

Her voice is never cross at all, she only says one word:
“recalculating” mm—hm   
“recal-cu-la-ting” mm—hm

It turns a deaf ear, turns a blind eye, sometimes it turns the other cheek.
And where it will end up is too hard to tell
for always it turns into something...something else.

We used to lead a wilder life as one with beast and plant.
We dined on apples, flowers, roots, we roamed the far-flung land.
Then came the gift of reason and a fine morality.
We dug and shoved and built and scoured. We dreamt of breaking free.

And when in doubt, we used our brains that’s why we now can say:
“recalculating” mm—hm
“recal-cu-la-ting” mm—hm

It turns in the grave, turns on its heel, it could well turn the gun on you.
And some are predicting a heaven or hell
but always it turns into something…something else.

The future seems a mess, you know, a human-made decline.
And cat and mouse and owl and frog are with us on the line.
But rather than to bring you down, I’d like to cheer you up.
So come on, Baby, let us swerve let’s get out of this rut

to find another passage way, it’s easy once you say:
“recalculating” mm—hm
“recal-cu-la-ting” mm—hm

It turns a new page, turns inside out, it’s bound to turn your head around.
It may turn out badly, it may turn out well
but always it turns into something...something else.