Fat Cats
The mercury is rising how we loved that fat cat,
The attention, the interiors, the leopard skin mat.
We drive it to the city, or we prowl the fast lane.
Never reaching higher ground, and coming home lame.
Fat cats
Who wants the cat to suffer? We can fix the bent frame,
Acrylic paint, rebuilt engine, species for a name.
Then back out on the highway the corridors of pain.
If you run into a jaguar will the cougar have a stain?
Fat cats
A taste for the horizon always out for fresh meat.
The clouds have darkened while we've headed for the feast.
The red line at the red light, the chance of being late,
Take a brake from beating pavement to recuperate.
The Impala's running ragged in an attempt to get away,
From the back-draft and emissions on the disappearing plain,
The wildcat has a wild side, and the wind has a taste,
Of a nation that is burning from the running of a race.
The cat' s curiosity, how long will it last?
On top of making enemies and burning out fast,
The sky has opened up with solid sheets of rain,
And your tread is wearing thin while your tearing up the fast lanes.
Fat cats
The mercury is rising how we loved the fat cat,
The attention, the interior, the leopard skin mats.
We drive it to the city, or we prowl the fast lane.
Never reaching higher ground , and coming home lame.
Wrknit
guards:
I started working in a dungeon.
Talk about your service industry.
The accountants and the accouterments,
Would keep you up at night. Who says society is free?
Society doesn't want to be free. I wouldn't say that.
Don't mention the walking wounded,
The trail of tears laid out before.
You do my dirty laundry,
In such a public way, but the payment settles the score.
Are you keeping score? What's the score?
officers:
Every day that I play I have a good time.
Deep inside the machine and I will make it alright.
Bullet proof, invisible, bomb proof, heavy gauge.
We remain inside. We always hide well out of range.
prisoners:
They keep you up at night,
Or make it cold as ice.
There was no limit to how low,
They'd deliver the final blow.
doktor:
Why does leather bring it out in them?
The skin of slaughtered beasts,
Does the irony just eat at them,
To the point of slicing wrists.
Outrageousness is done to death.
It's plainly out of hand for us,
And nothing protects sacredness,
From the meddling politicians.
prisoners:
Why don't they leave us alone?
They have no control.
They've sold their soul.
And satan enters through the front door.
Sacredness?
Meddling politicians.
officers:
We all have dark corners.
Should they see the light of day?
Are intentions like actions?
Are we playing roles today?
prisoners:
Like shadows in the mirror,
Or beams of light in mist,
As you look deep inside of me,
It's the human company I've begun to miss.
