the imitation picks you up like a habit

writing in the glow of the tv static

taking out the trash to the man

give the people something they understand

mistake a nervous flash for a fine-line smile

junk bond trader trying to sell a sucker a style

rich man in a poor man's clothes

the permanent installment of the daily dose

and you tell me, "fool, you tell it like it is"

your wall's gone wider than your head trip is

checking into a small reality

void as a drug you take too regularly

the athlete's laugh; the broken crutch

the first true love folded at the slightest touch

brought down like an old hotel

people digging through the rubble for things they can resell

"happy holidays," sad, sick savior

the leaving lover i still favor

i won't take your medicine

i don't need a remedy

to be everything i'm supposed to be

i don't want nobody else

i can do it by myself

we're meant to be together

now i'm a policeman directing traffic

keeping everything moving, everything static

i'm the hitchhiker you recognize passing

on your way to some everlasting...

better sell it while you can

better sell it while you can

better sell it while you can

better sell it while you can