|
Drivers in the taxicabs, |
|
People live their roles. |
|
Thirty-five cents. |
|
Throw it in the toll. |
|
They don't know they're paying what is stealing their food. |
|
They're forced into the melting pot where they're simmered and brewed. |
|
He loves being sick but he looks for a cure. [Chorus:] |
|
You can call this sane. |
|
You can call this eccentric. |
|
He marks his books with steak knives. |
|
All we are is lunch for the sky. |
|
Why can't we be jazz musicians? |
|
A little melody will soon be missing. |
|
All we are is lunch for the sky. |
|
Let's all play the lottery so we can buy all our dreams. |
|
I'm a self-help video with the worst themes. |
|
Everything |
|
I wanted I was all in a dream. |
|
I still wasn't much or was that just how |
|
I seem? He loves being sick but he looks for a cure. [Chorus] |
|
I stood back to the countryside. |
|
I asked if you'd like to take a ride. |
|
My moods come in two stages. |
|
God-awful and contagious. |
|
I can't tell you what |
|
I want to say. |
|
The city digested yesterday. |
|
Death is not the end it is the cure. [Chorus] |
