Anxious Mo-Fo, my twin, my friend Election time again, I wish that I was dead Some conversation, if you're well read To calm the storm of sh** that's raging in my head While languishing in basements: 10,000,000 corpses lashed to beds Atrophied to archetypes by all the able artists overhead Mixed light of evening, sky of the sea You take the Old North Road 'cause that's where you feel free Your hidden backroads, your hidden dreams A hidden cigarette that actually helps you breathe
Play an ancient mixtape, attempt a break from the routine But dark on the horizon: form that's never fully come to being Still need a reason for your unease - You think the government, it wants you on your knees But I'll tell you something, and here it is: They want you driving to the supermarket, buying milk and cheese And generating taxes to fuel their corn subsidies You're either nibbling at the carrot, or you get beat with the fasces