It's time for a sing along.
| Muzzle blast cackles and Molotov cocktails, Storefronts in blazes and ambulance sirens, News choppers circling high overhead, These are irrational, angry things. Stomping on backs of some lost, lonely kittens, Unloading bullets on women and children, Giving some hobo a knife in the ribs, These are irrational, angry things. When the boss shouts, When the bank calls, When I'm feeling sad, I'll simply act out on how poorly I feel, And I won't feel so bad. Strolling long-legged past downtown skyscrapers, Name's in the radio and all the newspapers. Bodies in heaps and blood running in streams, These are irrational, angry things. When the cops come, When the judge's done, They'll declare me mad. They'll wheel me away to my padded cell, And I won't feel so bad. |
