| Leaning backwards a memory
|
| Staying on the periphery
|
| To all the things that used to be
|
| I’ll say goodbye
|
| To the smoky rooms, where they piss their time
|
| To the alright boys, left with no rhyme
|
| To all the ploys as dumb as mine
|
| I’ll say goodbye
|
| Nothing ventured, nothing gained
|
| Put it down to expenses, it’s all the same
|
| To all the players of the game
|
| I’ll say goodbye
|
| To the wait in line and don’t complain
|
| To the fake pretending not to be sane
|
| To the someone’s loss is always my gain
|
| I’ll say goodbye
|
| To the people cocktail, that does not mix
|
| To the have-it-all by dirty tricks
|
| Of national airwaves jammed by pricks
|
| I’ll say goodbye
|
| To the chilled and labelled haunted face
|
| To the claustrophobic can’t do space
|
| To every lace curtained place
|
| I’ll say goodbye
|
| Through the thin and unsupported walls
|
| To the talking big and acting small
|
| To the last ordered home time call
|
| I’ll say goodbye
|
| To the third rate butcher’s dance-hall-mix
|
| To the gain attention finger clicks
|
| To the try it on the wind-up slicks
|
| I’ll say goodbye |