look at the sky, look at the sky
but the weights on our eyelids wouldn't oblige
there's a hard rain approaching, sweeping the waves
that will wash away all of the people I buy
in a stomach, sick, when the curtain falls
drawing lines and numbers when the telephone calls
using only a pencil to write on wet paper
about my wealthy agendas and healthcare laws
now that I'm postponing departures and turning a trick
inside of a brand new car with a stomach sick
we'll promote and push our wallpaper blends
without admitting it's the wall where we get our fix
"how infallible and lovely, your devotion this day"
to pay one a compliment while you push them away
well I'm a star with more holes than a traitor's heart
but I'll be there in fifteen and do whatever you say
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