Ice Station Zebra

Hear me out, it ain't easy but I'll try to explain
 Everything in the world gets labeled and named
 A box, a rough definition, unavoidable
 Who picked the label doesn't want to be responsible
 Truth, you're the warden, here's the keys to the prison
 You create your own box, you don't have to listen
 To any of the label makers printing your obituary
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 Here's an example
 If Joe Blow says "Yo, you paint like Caravaggio"
 You'll respond "No, that's an insult, Joe
 I live in a vacuum, I ain't coppin' no one"
 Listen up, son
 Everyone creating is a member of the family
 Passing down genes and ideas in harmony
 The players and the cynics might be thinking it's odd
 But if you rewind the tape, we're all copying God
 Copying God, copying God
 Copying God, copying God
 Add your own piece, but the puzzle is God's
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 Paying interest on the bills of late
 But I just can't seem to remember the dates
 I lay low and turn off the lamps
 Come on over, you can lick the stamps
 And we could put together a portfolio
 And sing hallelujah in stereo
 If we find a baby, let her into the hold
 But keep the car running on molten gold
 We got fever and there ain't no cure, girl
 Take out insurance if you ain't too sure, girl
 We do things that lovers do well
 Never have to ever hear the rings of school bells
 Plaid jeans, no cellular phone
 All the time in the world, no twilight zone
 My time is mine and they know they can't get it
 J. B. told me you got to hit it and quit it
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 I'm never gonna go where you want me to go
 'Cause I got feelings that you just don't know
 And you can listen up if you want to hear
 And if you can't stand it, then (woah) right here
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 The name of the tune is Cool Hand Luke
 'Cause I got stripes on my pants and boots
 In prison you could learn a lesson
 From the analog to the hot box session
 Listen