Bài hát Light Pollution Báo Lỗi

"Light Pollution"


John A Hobson was a good man

He used to loan me books and mic stands

He even got me a subscription to the Socialist Review

Listening to records in his basement

Old folk songs about the government

"it's love of money, not the market," he said, "these fuckers push on you.

And freedom yells, it dont cry.

Whatever sells will decide.

But there is no hell when you die.

So dont look so worried."

He got a night life

Lost his day job

Pushing paper, swinging pendulums

Anything to serve a function or to occupy some time

You have got to earn this living somehow

You are good as dead without a bank accound

But it is funny how alive he felt, down in that unemployment line

With all the trash at his feet

The pools of piss in the street

All of that filthy empathy for the way we're feeling

The billboards shade

The flags they wave

The anthem was playing loud

The baseball game was letting out

Then all at once he saw the dust

And heard every tiny sound

Got in his truck and turned around

Drove out through the crowd

And the cops drove out past that center mall

Out past that sickening sprawl

Out past that fenced in gold

And maybe he lost control fucking with the radio

But I bet the stars seemed so close at the end