Lyrics

Grew up in the shadow of the city on the hill In a smoldering hinterland of booze and guns and pills Slouching toward Bethlehem with no time left to kill With all the grist bound for the mill If your salvation is a trinket you can buy Carelessly calculate the cost but not the price Somehow the workweek leaves you hung up out to dry Empty pockets inside out and wondering why If you don't get your answer, baby Maybe ask yourself the question again If you can't point out your enemies Maybe start by taking stock of your friends Tucked between the pages of the Sunday New York Times Faded on the fragrance of those fashionable lies Smugly convinced you have the rabble on your side You look down your fucking nose as you pass by The piety and platitude Diffused light through a champagne flute As you criticize the etiquette of a starving child in front of you The dilettante luxuriance Just cheap talk and a bowl of mush As you play "both sides" from the fenceline Taking kickbacks from the fucking cops I can't say how it started, baby But I know exactly how it should end A peerage painted with rifle fire I'll settle for a rolling of heads As long as they're dead As long as they're dead As long as they're dead