not a glimmer of hope
for the numbers of us
who have nothing more than an old story
a short obit
no imprint to call our own
no sign to mark our path
a repeating call to watch the clock
we stay on our toes.
CH its a turn for the worse in these trying times
we're falling ill as we fall in line
our former glories and past triumphs
all mean nothing. we're broken men.
content to do nothing
comfort's a hell of a drug
killing ourselves as days grow to years.
CH its a turn for the worse in these trying times
we're falling ill as we fall in line
obliged to accept what we have left
hanging our hats on what we can get
drowning in the lack anything better to do.
(we resign ourselves to lazy traditions, soft couches and vacant nods
as we toss night after night and day after day into the abyss.)
for the numbers of us
who have nothing more than an old story
a short obit
no imprint to call our own
no sign to mark our path
a repeating call to watch the clock
we stay on our toes.
CH its a turn for the worse in these trying times
we're falling ill as we fall in line
our former glories and past triumphs
all mean nothing. we're broken men.
content to do nothing
comfort's a hell of a drug
killing ourselves as days grow to years.
CH its a turn for the worse in these trying times
we're falling ill as we fall in line
obliged to accept what we have left
hanging our hats on what we can get
drowning in the lack anything better to do.
(we resign ourselves to lazy traditions, soft couches and vacant nods
as we toss night after night and day after day into the abyss.)