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Oh, can't you feel the nostalgia |
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I wonder about your Modernistocrat Horatio Alger |
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Clever never hesitating in the baiting |
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Ever waiting for the canticle of manacles abating |
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Did you ever forget |
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You had a regret? |
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And what you've only guessed at |
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Might still be waiting |
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When the prodigal son with a caroming shadow |
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Of hate comes to land at home |
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Well, he's a mourning star |
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With a champagne heart at his curtain call |
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And father never understood the way the work gets done |
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Don't look at me, no, I ain't one, no prodigal son |
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Don't look at me, no, I ain't one, no prodigal son |
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When everybody above is ready to bout you |
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About controversial values |
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Don't you think you better readdress the level |
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Of the cowardice rising to drown you |
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Did you ever connect? |
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Or come to reject? Or even inspect |
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The dream that hounds you? |
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When the prodigal son with a caroming shadow |
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Of hate comes to land at home |
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Well, he's a mourning star |
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With a champagne heart at his curtain call |
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And father never understood the way the work gets done |
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Don't look at me, no, I ain't one, no prodigal son |
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Don't look at me, no, I ain't one, no prodigal son |
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When you least expect it, he's going to run |
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Like the blood red path of the western sun, oh yeah |
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The prodigal son is waiting, waiting for his moment to come |
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Well, hell no, don't look at me |
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Can't you see? I ain't one, no prodigal son |
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It ain't me, no, I ain't one, no prodigal son |
