[Verse 1]
Marvin walked into a helpless land and wondered lightly
“Am I happy? Is this happy?”
Following the footsteps left by man
He stepped to reprimand the mystic
So sadistic
Better half a century passed on later
Thought I’d be the next curator of this story
Fifteen months, not faltered once
Victorian dunce turned pico-luminary
This is scary

[Pre-Chorus 1]
Listening to painted whispers
Pastel wailings, matte disquiet

[Verse 2]
Next, the stranded cynic sits and toils
His fits and foils written slowly
Nothing’s holy
Emotion vs. Cognition
Trial the pathos/logos fission
This explosion of devotion
Lonely, sulking halves that wanted
Just a tastе of closure to implore them to start living
Thirty hours еach, with minimal outreach
Not for sale; for fun
It’s free, friend
Come to the deep end
[Pre-Chorus 2]
Gazing on the abscessed silence
Woeful strokes of chordal whims

[Chorus 1]
One solitary smile
To go that extra mile
To make me feel today
To make it go away
The chemistry is gone
Taken for a ride
Far away from you
No longer left inside

[Verse 3]
Actor with his trident, crown and blindfold
Smiled and counted three-by-ninefold
Is it over?
Or is he just a cycle now interned?
A bridled foreword; the beginning of an era
Study, write, practice, record, program, mix, master, film and edit
Then publish to the ether
Rinse, repeat, sir
When questioned, simply smile and wave
Look on your pile and say
“Well, I’m no lightweight”
Jesus Christ, mate
[Pre-Chorus 3]
Listening in tandem to a sorrow of forgotten hills

[Chorus 2]
One solitary smile
To goad these woes and wiles
To help me see the day
I’ll happily throw away
This chemistry of old
These beakers and vials
Far away from through
I’ll come back in a while

[Chorus 3]
One secondary smile
To go that extra mile
To make me feel today
To make it go away
The chemistry is gone
Taken for a ride
Far away from you
No longer left inside

[Verse 4]
There are no secrets anymore
I’ve laid them all out on the floor (They're all for you)
You want something?
You know more about me than my family
All these sick, unsightly maladies
Staving off the due insanity
Haptic feedback, half-baked blasphemies
Twenty-seven songs are yours
My blood, my sweat, my open doors
I’ve hurt, reviled and reconciled
Five hundred fucking hours
And I’m finally getting bored
[Verse 5]
This story isn’t over
I’m not sure that it’s begun
But I’d just like to spend some more time
Enjoying being one
My quill is dry; my flat-line, nigh
My tears, arranged and poured
And yet still you want for more?

[Outro]
I think it's better when you don't plan things... because you get too disappointed in things. But, I- this wasn't planned, it just grew. Started one little machine, then two, and five, and six, and... Only thing I'd probably do is like to have a bigger place to display more things, not get rid of 'em. But on the other hand, big is not better, it's, better is what's better, I think
How do you like that quote? 'Better is better.'.