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Lyrics

The peasants have called off the wedding
It seems like it's getting to be
The essence of details upsetting
Of retails indebting the freeLike everything's gotta be exactly as it oughtta be spoken
Trust in the lottery soldered on a subway tokenThey call this the waste of an era
The taste of a sterilized passion
For all these immaculate sparrows
The scarecrows and rarified fashions
And all of it reduced to the concentrated juice of a lemon
With the high fructose corn syrup solutions they are selling
But we can sing, if you want
Until the clouds come home
Until Mao Tse Dong throws the game
And if you think it's a front
Or just some immaculate farce
Put the Porsche before the cart
And just make it planeWhen they run past you a few forms to fill out
Your victories all will now be pyrrhic
Give us one last kiss before you sell out
We'll miss you when you spell out generic‘Cause all we ever wanted was a solid gold sonnet on a breakbeat
A little taste of honesty pressed into a vinyl worthy of framingBut tell us something we don't know
The face of a photo of dreams
Embellish, enchant it in totems
In granite, or sowed in the seamsAnd maybe some day when the four-tank parade comes assailing
We'll turn the other way when we find ourselves engaged
To the one man left standing in the streetBut we can sing, if you want
Until the clouds come home
Until Mao Tse Dong throws the game
And if you think it's a front
Or just some immaculate farce
Put the Porsche before the cart
And just make it planeAnd bling bling bling, until the crowds blow foam
Until Mao Tse Dong rolls in his grave
And if you think it's a front, or some apodictical farce
You can put the horse-power before the cart and just make it plane