It was no joke when your engine broke and the monsters came a-brawling.

Those bankers always win and this trouble that you’re in is not your own.
We’re each and all this fallen.

Feathers in your spokes. Motherfuck these weathered yokes, I wish we could.
But worries always calling.

Thieves in our clothes. Trophies for their trifles, they don’t know their glory’s only vapors.

And pennies for our pride. Goddamn these tired eyes.
I’m so in love with all our stillborn labors.

No homeland for the gentle-hearted. Lack and tears for the young departed.

For all the good they never started, we’re building trainwrecks in the setting sun.
In the setting sun.