Contraband

Wake up, this backpack is packed full of contraband
I'll take the next bus out of here
I'm peddaling as fast as my legs can carry
When I'm dead, please don't bury me in the ground

Sunspots in front of your eyes
You press them with your fingertips
I hope you won a prize
A slap in the face and white powder in your eyes

Ride, study, ride, study, ride
Get back to work
To heal the shame that's killing your pride
Ride, study, ride, study, ride
Open your eyes
Or are they glued too tight to see
What's three feet in front of me