Hey, golden boy with your sweet hair hanging down
what will you do when your world burns to the ground?
oh, how you dream, you stay on top of life
no one can play the lie like you could, my wife

Look at this beautiful, plastic world we have made
oh, if only God had half the talent that you've played
then maybe he'd have made something that won't be fade away
long after all that he has done is gone, we'll be standing here

And what of all of the chance that we laid and the ground-
work we've done to free all those enslaved, oh and the
hungry babies mouth that we filled up to the brim, oh
well, we should damn them all and paint the plastic cover on the whole damn thing

Oh, in the quiet confusion we grow
it's growing quite soft to breathe, this brown, lovely soil
oh, mine the gold out of nothing we will grow
oh, like some funky love deep that grow

And no one came when the old man cried for help, no
they stepped over him laying there, they gotta get on with their own [?]
and, oh, maybe where and thought maybe if at all one time of him lying down
on the ground, the old man is stepped over to get by

But now the world, your eyes
walk right there, lying on your last pillow, roll the ball
[?] babe, read out of the
mercy call, I found the way right