Intended consequences with a side of avarice
the green eyed telegraph violently
eyes the door and slices right through me
then sad to say, but we're all spitting diamonds
through paper plates with little thought
for the sad or the lonely who don't really want our help anyway

Apathy pulled from the sun
landmines, war crimes, disguise
We've already won

Then through the dives and diners, there's got to be
a simple thought of silence without empathy

Apathy pulled from the sun
As told, not sold, withhold
Your time will come

I'll drive a Tercel til I'm eighty-five
when I'll buy me a houseboat and live on the bay
off other people's hard work
and cigarettes will always be romantic.

Lyrics submitted by sammy142

Interpolation song meanings
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