A battered suit and overcoat, lapels spread out like demon’s wings
They don’t stitch ‘em like this anymore
Train brakes screeching softly as I gird for my interrogation
Chair so high my legs don’t touch the floor
Bobby Caldwell’s singing on a blown out bookshelf speaker askin’
Rhetorical questions from a digital grave
I slept like shit again last night, kept dreaming about crimes of passion
Wonder who’s condemned and who’ll be saved
When the trumpet of the final judgment sounds
I hope you’ll make your home with me deep underground
To be damned is a delight when I can hold you through the night
Even as the world of men comes crashing down
Pundits with their shoulder pads defending reprehensibles
Mental gymnasts desecrating grace
Trying to convince us all that one plus one is always three
With a smug hyena’s smirk upon their face
This hard boiled geriatric's acting like a he’s got a line on me
Chain-devouring Morley cigarettes
He doesn’t have the stamina to take me in alive
So I probably won’t have to pay these debts
But If I ever have to answer for my crimes
I hope that you will understand in time
There’s nothing I won’t do to chase away your stoic blues
And I’ll be waiting for you on the other side
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