This illusion of urgency
that comes with being human
and all the lists and circumstances
we be exhuming
it's a tale I guess
but it seems pretty stupid
pouring one remedy down
after another
I swear to God
we'll hit the right one brother
and find at last
our perfect cupid
draw back the bow let arrow fly
we won't get provoked to ask why
we'll see that bastard
hit its target
and when we're rich and fat
content with our lot
we won't question a single
minute that we've got
fuck you jack
We know we are set
what
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