|
The angel cries, |
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"You bastard!" |
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as we analyze the accent, |
|
So look out, you rock'n'rollers |
|
Over forty million served, and that's a record for the master |
|
It stood forever after |
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So are we, are we, are we, are we facing |
|
The end of all, of all the drugs we're lacing? |
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With common sense and courtesy and other things we thought |
|
Would be the end of us, but now they won't allow us our intentions |
|
Oh, the mother of invention |
|
It's her pleasure to repeat with feeling |
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Are we, are we, are we, are we facing |
|
The end of all the medicine we're taking? |
|
Somewhere in the system, there's an open-ended list of all the lies we tell |
|
Unblinking, thinking, what could we be living? |
|
Is it life, or is it even in the realm of possibility? |
|
You see it when you're missing who you came to see |
|
Is this thing even on, and on, and on |
|
Are we, are we, are we, are we facing |
|
The end of all the medicine we're taking? |
|
Are we, are we, are we, are we facing |
|
The end of all the medicine we're taking? |
