The onion is peeling and its left over shell is shining
Its no longer a party 'cause it happens every night
Frightened off the usuals
Frightened off
Frightened off
This winters brown with an apple sun
I can smell you passed out on the oriental rug, mums first purchase for your shrine to the onion peels.
We must blend into the choir
Sing as static with the whole.
We must memorize nine numbers and Deny we have a soul.
And in this endless race for property and Privilege to be won.
We must run, we must run, we must run.