Don't look at her
She knows you
Sitting in the back of the casino
Where only the **** addicts hide
Like some AOD group
The facilitators crack wise
While the ****** addict with the
Coffee cup in her hand closes her eyes
Never spilling a drop.
Everyone is always "tired".

Vice has an anthem singing until dawn
The private places people go
One more round of chips and dip
Naked bodies on the phone
Chug chug chug
Fasting until spaghetti size
Hoarders howling as the garbage man rolls down the block

Human minds oh so twisted
Try to straighten it all out
The promise of abundance
Pockets full
Ending up in the suicidal parking lot walk when it all becomes too real

Vice is nice, asks you to come right on in, never says no as long as you have the dough re me.

Don't look now
It's looking at you
Knows you far too well.