something’s wrong I

we’ve got the fat of the land, and a national pastime,
and the right to a full plate
so thank the unreasonable man making up all of our minds
till we’re pawns in a stalemate

with no time left on our loans.

all that you’ve got is your soul, but your soul might wanna know
what you’ve done for it lately
so put that thing back on the shelf, and we’ll toast the king’s health
and the wealth of his country

and chew ourselves down to the bone.

we block up the streets, and get clocked by the mounted police
who don’t like giving warnings
so we block up the senator’s hall till she promises she’ll call
the chief up in the morning

but it seems like he’s never at home.

we would have had it made
without our brains turned on,
our brains don’t work that way,
they know that something’s wrong.

i might lose my shirt, or an eye, or i might lose my right
to blurt out what i’m saying
but i’ll still have my friends, and we will stick around until the end
yeah, we’ll all be staying.

please don’t leave me alone.

© 2004 c holford

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