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Heaven Runs On Oil
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Such derision when you fled They bruised your lank shins while you were down Some kicked the crutches from under your arms You are one sorry story, a lost cause from conceivement Still I like you and your thinking mind And it's like a good book reads Always question your country There's knives in their blue eyes So read up, and turn off the telly And say you do Say you love us like I know you will And that our deaths won't be in vain Or in the name of gasoline You then displaced to Paris, claiming your extra baggage Mashing the fancy of your relatives Nothing but tactfulness and peace Out door restaurants and coffee Books under your arm instead of crutches And it's like a good book reads Always question your country There's knives in their blue eyes So read up, and turn off the telly I said read up, and turn off the telly


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