When the sun goes to sleep tonight it's gon'na leave behind the heat.
Ruthless rulers stake their turf and coat the Earth in concrete.
And no police to be found they're paid to protect the elite.
What the tax payers don't know won't kill them.
Cheap thrills abound for ones with the means to pay.
While the police pick on the colored folks the mayor looks the other way.
Political wholesalers all sit around and say,
"If you can't beat'em, join'em!"
Preachers preach repression to impressionable youth.
Teachers teach from textbooks containing half the truth.
The ones who call the shots are way too long in the tooth.
You better get yourself a sturdy umbrella.
Radioactive wasteland women pour salt on open wounds.
Police put the poor in prison with the druggies and the loons.
So I'm on the run from J. Edgar Hoover and all his worthless goons.
Yeah I hear he's a tenacious type of fella.
Bedridden breadwinners force fed on foolish pride
Come to cope with fickle fate and the weight of bitter brides.
While refugees and saintly sinners refuse to choose sides,
Purists extol the virtues of marriage.
Death's hand is quicksand in an hourglass or time.
All you poets, priests and prophets confess your sins and crimes.
Now all I can say you're just a sign of the times.
Haul my corpse away. Where's my horse and carriage?
Written by James Chan