|
the imitation picks you up like a habit
|
writing in the glow of the TV's static
|
taking out the trash to the man
|
give the people something they understand
|
a stickman flashing a fine line smile
|
junk bond trader trying to sell a sucker a style
|
rich man in a poor man's clothes
|
the permanent installment of the daily dose
|
and you tell off when you tell it like it is
|
your world's no wider than your hatred of his
|
checking into a small reality
|
boring as a drug you take too regularly
|
the athlete's laugh, the broken crutch
|
the first true love that folded at the slightest touch
|
brought down like an old hotel
|
people digging through the rubble for things they can resell
|
happy holidays said sick savior
|
the leaving lover that I still favor
|
I won't take your medicine, I don't need a remedy
|
to be everything I'm supposed to be
|
I don't want nobody else
|
I can do it by myself
|
we're meant to be together
|
now I'm a policeman directing traffic
|
keeping everything moving, everything static
|
I'm the hitchhiker you'll recognize passing
|
on your way to some everlasting
|
better sell it while you can
|
better sell it while you can
|
better sell it while you can
|
better sell it while you can
|
|
|
|
-----------------
|
junk bond trader
|
ELLIOTT SMITH |