Carl Sagan and his calm attitude Things are going well, friends coming home And me, I'll be there soon And it's hot, and these clothes are wearing thin And I'm writing backwards on a tree And I'm carving letters on this tree He's sleeping with bark chips on his tongue And he's dreaming that his mouth tastes like blood Now you're it, chasing chain link fences on our own And no one, no one gives a fuck what we'll become Pay attention Pay attention Pay attention Pay attention And I'm writing backwards on this tree And I'm viewing the cosmos from our street And I'm tracing letters of this tree And I'm riding backwards down our street And I'm riding backwards down our street And I'm riding backwards down our street