Send the children upstairs for the duration of this call. Don't tell them who's on the line, don't tell them anything at all. Slowly crack the blinds. See the car outside? We are only going for a short ride. Don't get clever now. We've much to talk about. Don't let me see nothing sticking from your trou. Do not act so coy. I know what you did last night, boy. Paid a special visit, and now the son ain't risen. Slowly crack the blinds. See the car outside? We are only going for a short ride. Don't get clever now. We've much to talk about. Don't let me see nothing sticking from your trou.

I hate your fucking blow friends; I wish you'd never brought them. Spending all your time Holed up in your room. I never see you downstairs, unless you're going to the front door. Even then that's just only when you need to pick up your food I don't wanna see you like this, you used to be a good friend. Now your habits make my skin crawl. I can't be with you. I used to be curious, fascinated by the dark side. Woulda killed to get in but now I wanna get out of this room. I don't envy your lifestyle, I don't wanna wear the nice clothes. The pills and pets and gizmos never made me move. No amount of fake attention can make up for the fact that the friends that you make through this are the ones that you will lose.

He’s talking the words of outsiders, but reading the script from his buyer. What a fuckin' surprise, he’s a liar. Is it anyone’s news there’s a market for grifting pills for the brain and the diet? Call a broken shop window a riot. If there’s a redpill you want, you can buy it. They’re all standing in line to be the next mouthpiece for some billionaire who wouldn't scrape you off his shoe, if, and when, he steps on you. Did you forget that it's a grift? Don't believe your own bullshit. They're walking the hallways of power with a second for you, but an hour of time for the men who would shower them with the cash and post-job connections. Honesty just doesn't cut it; you can take all your hard work and shove it. If you show 'em your face, they will rub it into some shit, and ask you to like it for billionaires who wouldn't scrape you off their shoes, if, and when, they step on you. Did you forget that it's a grift? Don't believe your own bullshit.

A gang of thugs in blue will hang around the schools. I feel so much safer now. I feel so much safer now. Teachers can help keep the peace when they're armed up to the teeth. I feel so much safer now. I feel so much safer now. Metal backpacks to stop rounds, fewer sightlines on the grounds. I feel so much safer now. I feel so much safer now. Active shooter lockdown drills, convince kids they will be killed. I feel so much safer now. I feel so much safer now. I feel so much safer now, safer now, safer now, safer now... Fifty dollar overtime to save two bucks for the subway line. I feel so much safer now. I feel so much safer now. Justify a taser use to stop a simple turnstile boost. I feel so much safer now. I feel so much safer now. Turn some rowhomes into graves with your no-knock warrant raids. I feel so much safer now. I feel so much safer now. Neighborhood is under siege cuz a guy was selling weed. I feel so much safer now. I feel so much safer now. I feel so much safer now, safer now, safer now, safer now...

On the hardwood floor, the clothes that you once wore. And on the highest shelf, old photos of your self. Old treasures of your past, your books, receipts, and maps. You'd sleep and think and cry on this laundry pile. But there's moth holes, and dust on the sill. If you don't clean it, then nobody will. Throw out crap that you don't need. Donate the books that you won't read. You've been the most people that you could be, and they're inside you, not in old plastic things. Enabled by desire to acquire and acquire. Commodify your childhood, of what were you a buyer? Threw away the cards of old birthday regards. Lost grandpa and Scream, signed, can buy just one online. But there's moth holes, and dust on the sill. If you don't clean it, then nobody will. Throw out crap that you don't need. Donate the books that you won't read. You've been the most people that you could be, and they're inside you, not in old plastic things. They're inside you, not in old plastic things. They're inside you, not in old plastic things.

Walking around, taking a tour, see the big glass windows of the rubble store. Don't know what it's gonna be, or what it was before, Just the big glass windows of the rubble store. In a lot downtown, where the rent is double, this place must sell imported rubble. This one's empty, and so's the next, the whole block's o-o-owned by private equity. I think this once was a chapel; now it's owned by some asshole. Luxury condos, commercial bubble; ground floor ha-ha-has the store of rubble. Walking around, taking a tour, see the big glass windows of the rubble store. Don't know what it's gonna be, or what it was before, Just the big glass windows of the rubble store.

Sleeping like a baby: twelve hours a day, in fits and starts, confused by the visions I see, unsure if they're real, or if they are not. The computer's auto-bright- ness saw the lighter spark. Now the lowest brightness set- ting available, it isn't that dark.

When normal folks with easy lives are digesting dinner, and putting the kids to bed, maybe reading the papers, or catching a movie, I get ready for work instead. When the trains stop running, and the streets grow bare, there's no easy to way to get downtown; that's when all the hardworkin' heroes like me put on our posting gowns. I work the night shift, I work the night shift. Honey, I got no time for romance; I work the night shift, I work the night shift at the consent manufacturing plant. Some people these days, they don't know the meaning of sacrifice for the greater good. Ooh, my fingers are achin', and my back's all crooked; if I could give up posting, I would. But there's people who need me, I can't let down. In a perfect world, where I called the shots, I'd be in bed beside you, my pretty baby, instead of here fighting the bots. But I work the night shift, I work the night shift. Honey, I got no time for romance. I work the night shift, I work the night shift at the consent manufacturing plant. In a simpler world, if we all changed roles, I'd do backbreaking labor instead of battling the trolls; but this is my curse, it's my cross to bear, somebody convinced these poor fools that they deserve healthcare. I work the night shift, I work the night shift. Honey, I got no weekend plans. I work the night shift, I work the night shift at the consent manufacturing plant. I work the night shift, I work the night shift. I wish I had rosé and a xan, but I work the night shift, I work the night shift, at the consent manufacturing plant, at the consent manufacturing plant, at the consent manufacturing plant.

A man should keep a well-stocked home for guests and times of want, but should he find himself alone, he can go crazy on his beer, his wine, his grass, his smokes, his pills to help him rest; what might be a real cool shindig were there a single guest. I've got twenty ways to see stars: I could walk down to all the local bars. I could tour my way down Cold Drink Avenue. I could drink, and drink, and drink, Or just mix together what's 'neath the sink. I've got twenty ways to see stars, but no way to see you Long time back, I was a simple man; it's true, my pal: I didn't need no substances, I had my lucky gal. She made my heart jump up and down, until she let me go; she don't love me, this I know, for the bottle tells me so. I've got twenty ways to see stars: I could stumble my way out 'tween parked cars. I could fall on my ass and look up t'ward the moon. I could smoke a field of grass, or even just try standing up too fast. I've got twenty ways to see stars, but no way to see you.

[instrumental]

It's hard to believe anything was ever made here, things existing outside paper, in our fragile history. You have to grit your teeth as we kill the world with toxins, to make our busy boxes, in eastern factories. The most wealth the world has seen, and it's all from collecting rents on property, and defense, our right to rule worldwide. Don't have something we want, or we'll rub your nose in gravel, you'll pay us for our travels, because such is our right. Cut with the pen, not with the saber; Two dollars for a bushel of your fruits of labor. I'm a number, in a box, working on boxes and numbers; the handymen and plumbers don't stare all day at screens. Sometimes they're elbow-deep in toilets or in waste bins; I recoiled when I faced it: they have the hands more clean. Gilded tower to gilded tower, the lunch orders are processed. Don't think what goes in the sausage, how the startups take their haul. On their feet for a dozen hours, the immigrant chefs get their fraction, reduced by my own actions, cuz I wouldn't place one call. Cut with the pen, not with the saber; Two dollars for a bushel of your fruits of labor. Low-wagers here, and peons global, Grit in the shoes that keeps capital mobile.