Anxious mo-fo, my twin, my friend
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Election time again, I wish that I was dead
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Some conversation, if you're well read
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To calm the storm of shit that's raging in my head
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While languishing in basements: 10, 000, 000 corpses lashed to beds
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Atrophied to archetypes by all the able artists overhead
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Mixed light of evening, sky of the sea
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You take the Old North Road 'cause that's where you feel free
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Your hidden backroads, your hidden dreams
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A hidden cigarette that actually helps you breathe
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Play an ancient mixtape, attempt a break from the routine
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But dark on the horizon: form that's never fully come to being
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Still need a reason for your unease--
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You think the government, it wants you on your knees
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But I'll tell you something, and here it is:
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They want you driving to the supermarket, buying milk and cheese
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And generating taxes to fuel their corn subsidies
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You're either nibbling at the carrot, or you get beat with the fasces.
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The Stick
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| Ted Leo & The Pharmacists |
