So this is the age of the train. All aboard for the labour exchange. My mind is running away with me. I'm a shop on a sales campaign. Trapped behind yellow cellophane.
Roll the dice,. Keep 'em guessing, asking questions. One more time!. Close the vice,. Keep 'em pressing, teach 'em a lesson. Hold the line!. . Don't run through the door.
Look alive. Pick a side. Draw a line in the sand. You're just the band. . They treat us like we're extras in an epic. They treat us like we're mud on their boots.
Troubled weather's on its way. Tempests threaten us today. There's no respite from long dark nights. Just the fantasy of spring. . From the hailstones of summer.