Being alive these days feels like a crime
Punishment in the smog and crushed limes
Drink till it stops come pay your fines
Then work your way back through the line

Get higher get tools get cash
More fire more fuel more ash

Trace threads on your bed
Face the dead in your head

Gold plated saints lead us over the edge
Black tarmac crumbles on the ledge

Dreamers can stay in their comas
Workers can dream of some commas