It’s getting kind of hard to take. You’re always stuck in the same place. It’s time to reassess your fate. Just three places you can be found: at work, in bed, and underground. No wonder you just drag around. Now you’re not getting out of bed. You’ll make the commute in your head and pop another Sudafed.
The effort isn’t always worth the fruit it brings. There should be wheels on everything.
Just think what these wheels could do. You could roll to the next room, or even roll the room to you. I know it’s hard to visualize a world with wheels upon its skies, where you just grab hold and you fly. Fire trucks chasing the fire, the wheels have wheels, so do the tires. Stand back, they’re rolling in the choir.
The dead are rolling in their graves. There’ll be no rolling back their days, but thunder’s rolling far away. Hate to bust up your fantasy, but heavy things remain heavy even if they coast with ease. One thing that we learned too late: the problem never was the skates. The problem’s always been the brakes.