Junk Bond Trader

the imitation picks you up like a habit

writing in the glow of the tv static

taking out the trash to the man

give the people something they understand

a stickman flashing a fine line smile

junk bond trader trying to sell a sucker a style

rich man in a poor man's clothes

the permanent installment of the daily dose



and you tell of when you tell it like it is

your world's no wider than your hatred of his

checking into a small reality

boring as a drug you take too regularly

the athelte's laugh, the broken crutch

the first true love that folded at the slightest touch

brought down like an old hotel

people digging through the rubble for things they can resell



happy holidays said sick savior

the leaving love that i still favor

i won't take your medicine, i don't need a remedy

to be everything i'm supposed to be

i don't want nobody else

i can do it by myself

we're meant to be together

now i'm a policeman directing traffic

keeping everything moving, everythig static

i'm the hitchhiker you'll recognize passing

on your way to some everlasting

better sell it while you can