To delete all messages, press delete again
To delete all messages, press delete again
The band don’t care, the Russians don’t care
The devil may care, let the buyer beware
Grab a chair, looks like somebody stayed too long at the fair
A million here, a trillion there
Now it’s all evaporated into thin air
“What’s fair is fair,” says the rat with the lion’s share
If there’s no gold beneath the rainbow
No muse to speak to my soul
How shall I know where to go?
If my heart is closed for repair
If I’m too afraid to be scared
For what next shall I prepare?
Dumb, dumb, dumb
When they want, don’t you know they can make the sun to glow
Dumb, dumb, dumb
When they don’t, all they say is, “Sonny boy, make it dark below”
Dumb, dumb, dumb
Their stock in trade is that superior info
Dumb, dumb, dumb
That makes or breaks the bank and that you will never know
No, not until it’s already too late
You will always lose and then you’ll learn to call it your fate
You’ll always be outside the gate
It’s a zoo in here and a jungle out there
Money and me, we’re an unlikely pair
It’s true: My give-a-damn is in desperate need of repair
The people I elect, it’s no concern of theirs
Either that or the world is already theirs
While the man upstairs says, “Here’s a dime, call somebody who cares”
Am I just some human debris? No one wants to see or be me
A native-born refugee. Make a buck on my bridge to nowhere
As a fairytale becomes a nightmare and we dance and prance in mid-air
Dumb, dumb, dumb
I wouldn’t mind so much if you had ended it there
Dumb, dumb, dumb
But when you win by a hair, you go off on another tear
Dumb, dumb, dumb
You never arrive. It’s like you’re always almost there
Dumb, dumb, dumb
As you empty the cupboard, empty houses, empty eyes full of despair
Empty lives and the cross we bear never gets on the air
While your body tells you, “I’m so damn tired, I cannot think straight”
And your poor wife tells you, “I’ve got some good news, you’ve got a roommate”
And the politicians tell you, “It’s the other guy’s mistake, we should all celebrate”
And the radio tells you, “It’s your own damn fault, now pull your own weight”
And your analyst tells you, “The good news is you’ve got a clean slate”
Words, music, recording, and production by Richard Faylor
© Deep Happy Music
richardfaylor@yahoo.com
208-713-4002