Gotta beating heart and a head full up with steam, And pretty faces livin’ inside my color TV
Got James Dean dreams soaked in red red whiskey, And fifty different people tryin’ to tell me who to be
I’m the coal and the world is a furnace, Never meant no harm but she was made to burn us
I feel so Obsolete, Might as well milk my blood for oil
What do get now if I worship at their feet? What do I get now for my toil?
The highways moan like those ancient asphalt gods, Making my feet felt so obscene
Rushing my way through those inky black veins, I’m feelin; less man than machine
And my legs are crooked trinkets on their trees, when firing rods and levers bring me to my knees
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