Sitting on a stone in a cellar full of fear

Collapsing in the lapse of luxury

My mind’s dried up from this week’s tears draining out of me

You’ve got to make that living

Ain’t that what they say?

Make that living

Lots of bills to pay

Got to push your wares where no one cares that you’re so far away

From the thing that keeps you pushing every day

Too weird for words

Sometimes it’s just too weird for words

Must be for the birds

Too weird for words

Wouldn’t you know my tongue has lost its taste

The sheep and cattle feasting 'round the clock

I cannot even fathom how much food must go to waste

While poverty sits dying on the dock