When your heart of gold
Feels heavy and cold,
And your little slice of paradise
Is getting kinda old,
Are your goals still the same,
Do you crave the taste of fame?
Can you hear the tolling bells,
Are they calling out your name?
I would never take my soul to sell
And let my body be a shell.
But I have a hollow feeling,
And a wound that isn’t healing.
It’s probably something else.
At least I know it’s not unique.
I see it worse in someone else
At least once or twice a week.
I love it here in hell, I swear,
I have found a quiet home here,
My own dark and dusty lair,
Where I toss and turn forever.
It’s about the best we can do
Never knowing what is true.
What more do you want from us
Whose minds aren’t safe to trust?
Our civilization? A supermarket.
Our culture? A kindergarten.
Our society? A cesspit.
But it’s our home, and we belong to it.