So all of us are bound together
Tied together, stuck forever
Sleeping in our beds just short enough
Our feet exposed, we're cold enough
To bundle up and let the cold seep in
And we're coughing and we're shivering
All praying for deliverance
Caught up in what we're swimming in
Upstream to something easy
Choking on the shit we're breathing in
It's all collapsing, think on it, where you went wrong
I'm saving my saliva, cookie crumbs, my lovely lies
for better times, and better tries
Someday I'll get it right
Someday I'll get it
For now, I'll ante up, empty my cup
Quit looking up to anyone
Or any stuck and tired phantom
That's enough, oh that's enough

That's enough to show me my position
exorcism, lost conviction
Oh, I was a lover of the chase
Before that bit of grace was spent
On coffee, cigarettes and drugs
That moticam of careless love
I spent it all on something sinking in the sewers
But for now I'll watch my clothing fade
The grand parade, the masquerade
The mothball in the cupboard
I've been saving for a rainy day

The mothball in the cupboard
I've been saving for a rainy day
The mothball in the cupboard

I was standing on the street
The ice and snow under my feet
Beneath the rows of planted trees
Who's pretty leaves had fled the scene
A month before
And all them people in their doorways
Made their way down to the grocery stores
And up the road
Into the office buildings where they worked
And I joined in along
In silent song beside them
Cursing our vocation, dreaming up vacations
From them old bus stations

I'm working for the mass production
And the gumption of that introduction
From that suit or uniform
That shapes you into any form they need
To make somebody work from dawn to dusk
They'll care enough about your welfare
When you cut yourself, break your limbs
Or grab your chest
And fall onto the floor
The paperwork is piling up and your heart attack
Is documented and filed along with the rest of them

So now I'm down by the train tracks
Down by the smoke stacks
Sad saps, and the power plants
That old Cherokee factory
and the Wyatt Towing Company
I give one hundred dollars
To the man behind the desk
Who just would not accept a check
Or even listen to my pitiful laments
God knows he's heard it all before
But I'm no different
So I'll make a partial payment
And move on down the frozen pavement

And I do not feel ashamed
That I am sick of saying c'est la vie
I do not feel that I am any wiser
For the things I've seen
But maybe wisdom comes with age
And maybe those with fortunes fade
While we who live to die
Are in possession of some kinder fate