| With a sense of irony everyone you see is chasing their illusions
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| Take a dive or sink or swim, but in the end you’re in the same pollution
|
| In your world escape is swift, the nonsense list is all you need to know
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| In the land of dreams, you make the right connections, then you’ll be the hero
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| Ecstasy, the cult of me provides our institutions
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| You can live forever with a grave that stands where people used to function
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| You can join the saviours of our culture, vultures circling overhead my sky
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| Like the sin of gluttony won’t set you free, but Betty Ford can help you try
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| You can get all the things you never needed
|
| You can sell people crap and make them eat it
|
| But where is our John Wayne
|
| Where’s our sacred cowboy now?
|
| Where are the indians on the hill?
|
| There’s no indians left to kill
|
| People die with oxygen and all their money can’t afford a breath
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| People starving everywhere and staring in the face of death
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| Prostitutes and politicians laying in their beds together
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| You can be the saviour of the poor making up the policies to open up the back
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| door…
|
| You can get all the things you never needed
|
| You can sell people crap and make them eat it
|
| Where is our John Wayne
|
| Where’s our sacred cowboy now?
|
| Where are the indians on the hill?
|
| There’s no indians left to kill
|
| Where is our John Wayne
|
| Where’s our sacred cowboy now?
|
| Where are the indians on the hill?
|
| There’s no indians left to kill
|
| You can get all the things you never needed
|
| You can sell people crap and make them eat it… eat it!
|
| Where is our John Wayne
|
| Where’s our sacred cowboy now?
|
| Where are the indians on the hill?
|
| There’s no indians left to kill
|
| Where is our John Wayne
|
| Where’s our sacred cowboy now?
|
| Where are the indians on the hill?
|
| There’s no indians left to… kill… |