Fame throwa pass out the gold
The diamon watch the last reward
All the things we had before
You sold us out and took it all
Head-borne cries from zenith sluts
Astral rites from dead-end ruts
These ends are sick-end wars
These ends was sick-end wars

He's one of our nation's spies

He's one of our first recruits

I click with her leather thighs

He's one of our first recruits

How can you know
In the distance lies a grower
Na-a rudolph
King fame throwa
Son of groupie
Bed-worn sexan
Spent his cash convincing us
That the desert was a starscape
Took our lives for satellites
So we could cry

He's one of our nation's spies

He's one of our first recruits

I click with her leather thighs

He's one of our first recruits