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On a morning in |
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November you were blinded by the sun |
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In your place that makes you feel so safe from everyone |
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You're totally oblivious to world poverty |
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Not affected by the millions that you don't see |
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And so we toast to opportunity and talk about the weather |
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Although we never look each other in the eye |
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We are paranoid and out of step with every word that we just said |
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We all sound fucking crazy and no one can lie down in their own bed |
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In a moment you will tell us of your own personal hell |
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I'm starting to believe that everyone is for themselves |
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We really don't have an eternity to make our dreams come true |
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But thinking for tomorrow isn't in you |
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On my way down to the city |
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I was looking out the window |
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At some point you learned to look the other way |
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We're so desperate it's dangerous, we basically have lost our heads |
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Responsible for nothing but taking credit where ever we can |
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And so we live under the garden where we can hide |
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And not smell the dregs of earth |
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Beneath the sun of the same planet, inherit wealth, inherit dirt |
