Hack off what you can what you’ve still got. Living like roadkill carcass left to rot. Neon lights growing dim while the developers are marching in. The streets no longer fertile like they once were. The smoke and drink will be the last thing that will take me beyond the stars. We’ll blister and we’ll boil, we’ll pick the scabs that turn to scars. We battle demons inside our heads, inside our hearts. It won’t go down quietly.” We drink, we smoke, we fight in bars. Just handover the cash, nobody gets hurt and it will all work out fine. As you share with your friends a piece of the greed, mate, we’ve got our snouts in the trough and our pockets are lined. Just think of this as the ol’ money back guarantee on all of the shit that you buy that you don’t even need. I wasn’t asking you, boy, so don’t talk back to me. “So you’ll tax my income and tax my vice?” / “Son, these are the rules. No matter what I try, I can’t better this side of me. Just another vacant lot on the low road of society. How can I light a fuse when I cannot spark a light? I tried to fight the booze but it won’t go without a fight. Don’t forget, we’re not the ones who shot the gun that started this race but if we asked you to, you’d cut off your nose to spite your face. Just settle in, knuckle down and get used to second place. We ask you to strive for your best, but not in this case. So as your alarm wakes you from your dreams of sleep and your aching back cracks as you bend to your feet to lace your boots up, worker-man, and as you don that collar blue, you’ll realise that their plan was not for you.
I know it’s shitty, son, but a lot of the time it’s simply easier to tow the party line. By the door you’ll find a broom for sweeping up broken dreams and bones that have been ground to dust. When you’re finished working in the din of the engine room replacing cogs stripped bare and wheels clogged with rust, make sure the floor is clean. But not before we’re all stripped bare and been brought to our knees by these bastard suits that seem to feed on currency and spew out nothing more than more bullshit lies sold as plans and a billion idiots dressed just like me. You’ll be a millionaire the day trees sprout money. They say that a penny saved is a penny earned and though I appreciate your concern for all the cash and bridges that I’ve burned, if there’s one thing that rings true it’s that I’ve learned: You’ve gotta lace your boots up, worker-man, and don that collar blue because your master has a plan and it’s not for you. That is to say I’ve hidden my cash under the bed and just walked away. Into another year of freedom from financial doubt.
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