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Artiste: Sleeping Cranes
Titre: Que Sera, Sera

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There's a man inside a speeding car, careening toward the south
He loves the taste of the tobacco as it tumbles around his mouth
He loves the way the smoke clouds his green eyes
And how no one can recognize him

There's a girl with a telephone underneath a dreaming tree
Her old mirrors are in a landfill, they didn't know how to deceive
She'd rather live amongst the leaves
Than except that one day they'll fall

And the copycat suburbs keep sprawling
And the politicians are still sleeping in
And the muck rakers are trapped in an apathetic cataract
But don't get upset, it's just the human condition

There's a poet with a suitcase sitting on a bullet train
He tosses shredded bits of blueprints out the window to the rain
A couple drops, they grab his hands
But he just shakes them off and smiles to himself

And there's an activist with a fashion sense in a loft in NYC
Her heart is callous but not stricken with the plague of apathy
She fights for winter's right to reign
When November rolls around

And the president's practicing Darwin
While his podium proclaims his faith
Sea levels may be on the rise, perfect strangers may have to die
But don't let it get to you, don't you believe in fate?

There's a kid closing the blinds inside of his house
He's got his nose inside a bible, and his foot crammed in his mouth
The vibrations from the shells can't reach his bones through the sturdy walls
And of the death upon his doorstep, he just shrugs, says "Que Sera, Sera"

There's a ghost up in the attic, screaming down the staircase
He says, "Tomorrow's just a wishing well the depth of your pockets dictate
So be sure to ask a lot of questions of the cross and clocks you kneel beneath."
But the world, they cannot hear him over the roar of their new TVs

And the news stations keep pouring us whiskey
And the salesmen keep counting their money
And the statistics huddle up inside their tiny, freezing huts
Because, goddamn it, that's democracy