The Machine

All that he does is chip away
Each day he sticks to his routine
Putting the pieces on
Building a big machine

He ran out of room inside his room
And so he moved it all outside
Now it's a bit too big
Now it's a mile wide

The family vans across the desert
Follow signs to park and stare
Nobody says hello
Nobody knows he's there

They just look at the blinking lights and greebles
Interlocking arms of steel
And they think
Nothing could be so big
Nothing could be so real

They think
One million springs
And spinning things
It's quite a view
We have no clue
What does it do?
That's the beauty of it
It doesn't do anything
Doesn't do anything, doesn't do anything

He made his own night-vision goggles
Now he lurks inside the frame
Perfecting it from within
Forgetting his own name

All that he knows is that it needs him
All it knows is he needs it
Every piston
Every single little bit

The government people in black helicopters
Try to snoop around
I'm so sorry, but he needs the extra parts
He takes the choppers down

Now there are tanks on the horizon
Asking: What are his demands?
Not one of them understands
Nobody understands

All the megaphones scream
One million gears
Perhaps our fears are coming true
What does it do?
What does it do?
That's the beauty of it
It doesn't do anything
Doesn't do anything

Lost in solipsism
He then slowly pulls a lever
Which sets off a mechanism
Which does nothing whatsoever
But the nothing that it does
Negates the everything we know
Because it's screaming, just because
Because it's neither friend or foe
And so we label it a menace
Or a grandiose work of art
From its finale to its genesis
We slowly pull it all apart

That's the beauty of it
It doesn't do anything
Do anything
Doesn't do anything, doesn't do anything