Anarchy Will Make You Pay Five Dollars At the Door
What are you gonna do now that everything familiar is gone?
How will you pass the time?
Drive along the coast, get a hotel by the beach and smoke the last of what we have.
Up close and a little personal, everybody stumbles in to hear the music.
Polk marked zombies parade the streets, we all shake hands with sharpened teeth.
Building new walls out of old ones, you should swallow all your words and see the bottle they stuffed us in.
Watch us roll around the bedroom floor.
My hands are tired and without fail we're getting sick, difficult and stale.
Unable to get along.
All our dreams come true.
Guaranteed to make the news.
The greatest T.V. event ever.
No one thought to warn us all about ourselves.
All our dreams come true.