| You sold your soul to stay afloat
|
| They raised the stakes to watch you fold
|
| Locked the doors and tapped the phones
|
| And you just fled to Mexico
|
| No one’s gonna fix all your mistakes
|
| Dancing with the devil, you had better
|
| Keep your hands above the waist
|
| Everything you touch will turn to sand
|
| When you see the world as nothing more
|
| Than money in your hand
|
| You’ll never get the chance to understand
|
| Just what it’s like to sleep without these voices in your head
|
| The silent chorus of the dead you left behind
|
| You taste the treason on her tongue
|
| You settle in the D.C. slum
|
| Hilltop house in Washington that they call the rising sun
|
| She washed the lipstick smudges from her face
|
| Sleeping with the state, you will eventually
|
| Just learn to love your taste
|
| Everything you touch will turn to sand
|
| When you see the world as nothing more
|
| Than money in your hand
|
| You’ll never get the chance to understand
|
| Just what it’s like to sleep without these voices in your head
|
| The silent chorus of the dead you left behind
|
| [Listen! |
| Open the door, Fed window!
|
| He has no idea how bad it is out there! |
| He has no idea!
|
| He has no idea! |
| None! |
| And Bill Poole? |
| Has no idea!]
|
| A new hope for the poor folks, just a penny to the rich
|
| There’s a rally down on one street as a fire burns in Kensington
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| As you carve another notch into your gun
|
| Set the spark and take your mark, you’ve finally got 'em on the run
|
| Everything you touch will turn to sand
|
| When you see the world as nothing more
|
| Than money in your hand
|
| You’ll never get the chance to understand
|
| Just what it’s like to sleep without these voices in your head
|
| The silent chorus of the dead you left behind
|
| You left behind |