The Edge Of Town (The Suicide File)

The Cul-de-sac jungle is a cruel place It's a living rotting failure from a different age And if you're looking for the place that dreams go to die it's not in the city it's around the outside You can mortgage your future for subleached purity and accept the sterility in exchange for security but no matter how many times you run from your fears the same problems always re-appear Day after day it's all just decay and the promised land just gets further away On these dead lawns lie your father's dreams White flight. White blight. White screams On these dead lawns lie your mother's dreams Rum, Romanism And TammanyIdealism is f**king dead Laughed off the stage at countless conventions Laissez faire is en vogue again It's silver tongue has been heaven sent One man, one vote, throw it away One land, one hope, throw it away When every candidate looks the same, born of noble blood So don't f**king talk to me about our tradition of democracy Who the f**k am I supposed to believe in