| See the Soul Singer in the session band
|
| Shredded to ribbons beneath a microphone stand
|
| Felt the quickness of pity like a flash in a pan
|
| For the Soul Singer in the session band
|
| Now a red carpet bagger makes a Blackberry call
|
| To the plastic piranhas in the city of salt
|
| Wasted wheat paste campaign post no bills on the wall
|
| You mean nothing to no one but that’s nobody’s fault
|
| See the Soul Singer in the session band
|
| Shredded to ribbons beneath a microphone stand
|
| Felt the quickness of pity like a flash in a pan
|
| For the Soul Singer in the session band
|
| I had a lengthy discussion about The Power of Myth
|
| With a post-modern author who didn’t exist
|
| In this fictitious world all reality twists
|
| I was a hopeless romantic now I’m just turning tricks
|
| Just like that Soul Singer in the session band
|
| Shredded confetti beneath a microphone stand
|
| Saw the Conflict of Interest slipping cash in the hand
|
| Of the Soul Singer in the session band
|
| His room is on fire since he painted it red
|
| There are a stranger’s silk sequins at the foot of the bed
|
| He has been to weddings and funerals but he still never wept
|
| Now sorrow is pleasure when you want it instead
|
| Just like the Soul Singer in the session band
|
| Wailed like an infant atop a white baby grand
|
| We’ll need every sand bag and every man
|
| To save the Soul Singer in the session band
|
| Headlights or Taillights it’s a flip of a coin
|
| I have been coming and going since the day I was born
|
| And I followed the breadcrumbs but I never got home
|
| I grew old in an instant now I am all on my own
|
| Just like that Soul Singer in the session band
|
| Shredded to nothing beneath the microphone stand
|
| Saw the wave of the future through the crack of the dam
|
| Drowned the Soul Singer in the session band
|
| Bless the Soul singer in the session band |