Johnny Hobson was a good man
He used to loan me books and mic stands
He even got me a subscription
To the Socialist Review
Listening to records in his basement
Old folk songs about the government
Its love of money not the market
He said these fuckers push on you
And freedom yells, it dont cry
Whatever selves will decide
But theres no hell when you die
So dont look so worried
He got a night life, lost his day job
Pushing papers, swinging pendulums
Anything to serve the function
Or to occupy some time
You gotta earn this living somehow
Youre good as dead without a bank account
But its funny how that life has felt down
In that unemployment line
With all that trash at his feet
The pools of piss in the street
All of that filthy empathy
For the way were feeling
Dont worry
Dont worry
Dont worry
The billboards shade
The flags they wave
The anthems playing loud
The baseball game was letting out
And all at once
You saw the dust and hurt
And turned the sound
Got in his truck and turned around
Drove out through the crowd and the cops
Drove out past that center mall
Drove out past that sickening sprawl
Out past that fenced in gold
And maybe he lost control
Fucking with the radio
But I bet the stars seem so close
At the end
At the end
At the end
At the end
…
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