used to run with the ladykillers
but we were always more coroners and gravediggers
special emotional support forces
watching out the window for strange figures
guess that's one way to support 'em
help alleviate the postmortem boredom
it's in the unofficial job description
crimes of passion, you're mandated to report 'em
all my friends they know the drill
empty their heads they know it still
empty our hearts and hands into the wishing wells that we were told to fill
toys r us, kmart, radioshack, borders
about a billion other bricked up bricks and mortars
tumbleweeds rolling through the city market
somehow we're all still broke and still hoarders
pandora about to open up the mystery box
barnes and noble on a compact disc detox
pretend i'm flipping through a rack of old coltrane
instead of novelty items on a gift kiosk
all my friends have gone their ways
burger joints and book cafes
windows look like tired eyes scanning the horizon for brighter days
high tide, gray skies, and green meadows
gated communities full of filth, and clean ghettos
we're all sinatra - got the world on a string
not enough pinocchios, too many gepettos
speaking of puppets what's with cookie kermit and elmo
such kind eyes, such strange bedfellows
okay okay inside joke i'll stop - it's just as well though
we're grown but the memory's like a marshmallow
all my friends know what i mean
comes a time for coming clean
stays a place where flashes of our old abandoned selves can still be seen
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