Anxious mofo, my twin, my friend Election time again, I wish that I was dead Some conversation, if you're well read To calm the storm of shit that's raging in my head
While languishing in basements Ten million corpses lashed to beds Atrophied to archetypes By all the able artists overhead
Mixed light of evening, sky of the sea You take the Old North Road 'Cause that's where you feel free
Your hidden back roads Your hidden dreams A hidden cigarette That actually helps you breathe
Play an ancient mix tape Attempt a break from the routine But dark on the horizon Form that's never fully come to being
Still need a reason for your unease You think the government, it wants you on your knees But I'll tell you something and here it is They want you driving to the supermarket Buying milk and cheese
Generating taxes To fuel their corn subsidies You're either nibbling at the carrot Or you get beat with the fasces