Paroles: Tim Version (The). Prohibition Starts Tomorrow. Stale Coffee.

Big city friction factors in
the 8 month blues that settle in
when there's nothing you can't get
over, you'll let it all ride on a
4-leaf cover

let's count hours, let's count days
let's count the people counting ways
of keeping up with the static
quo, and i'm still waiting for
the punchline

to the joke that no one's getting
is there anybody else who's
looking for a foxhole out from
the 4 walls that they're stuck
between

i can't laugh or be offended who
the god they're grabbing turns to lead
and the more they get the more they
let it weigh them down

the daily diatribe begins
the stale coffee smells like shit
visionaries are out of focus
econochrist defeats the purpose

let's count dollars, let's count cents
pocket the check, spare the expense
and every friday sign your
life away on the dotted punchline