American Piano

This is my home and this is my cage.
This is my youth and my dying age.
This is my chariot and my firing squad.
These are my people the ones I am careful of.
Don't you get sweet on me, this is not some kind of symphony.
It’s an American piano, an American, American piano.
They bent the match and they burned the cake.
They left us out standing in the middle of a made up lake.
And here comes Mrs. Arabic and she’s mad as hell.
And we’re burning a roman candle don't you love the smell. Yeah
Don't you get sweet on me, this is not some kind of symphony
its an American piano, an American, American piano
I don't I don't remember shaking hands and giving you my faith
but they watch, they watch and they watch
They’re listening to everything that you say, everything that you say
every little thing.
And here comes the incredible un-loving and intentional dream
washing these hands on the off chance that they just might come clean.
Don't you get sweet on me, this is definitely not any kind of symphony
its an American piano, an American, American piano