Number One (In New York)

Salvage yard scavenging, bent over backwards
The caverns are vast and packed to the rafters with decaying corpses
Of course it’s important – pertinent details from primary sources
The voices are louder than ever before, sticking forks into four-legged horses
Deplorable forces conspire to fire the lord
And to hire a guy who will try to eat more of the portions
A guy who’s more boorish, a guy who’s more selfish, with elves as his helpers
Hopeless hapless masses are dopes, they suppose
It’s the same old rigamarole that we know, it’s as bold as a rodeo
Run with the bulls – all the bullshit is so, so disposable
Open wounds, broken bones
Choking from smoking these Marlboro hundreds
Dysfunctional, fuck up in front of the public
Dublin is so far away
It’s disgusting the way that these laymen conduct their discussions
But it’s fun to disrupt if yr cussing enough
Then I call my own bluff, push my luck
Hungry husbands are smuggling in drugs with their blood bubbling, boiling
Recoil from the touch of the boys in the club
Noise erupts from the speakers, they scream from the bleachers
Creatures in need of a teacher
The reason is clear as a really bleached t-shirt
The fever is reaching its peak
The deceivers are speaking of peace like it’s reachable
The evil are peeking through cracks in the steeple
Believe it, it’s real, ’tis the season
I’m breathing in poison, chest heaving
Can’t even conceive of the next best thing
“Arrest these heathens! Forget the trial, lock ’em up, toss the key”
Dot the T’s, cross the I’s, lots of apostrophes
Coughing up boxes of bucks to stay lost in the fog of this obnoxious process
My conscience is quiet, ensconced in the tarpit
Cover the garden with carpet, forget and get onto the starship
We’re off to another dimension – the rent’s too expensive here
Spent my whole pension improving my penmanship
When does it get any closer to ending?
And can I just mention the stench?
It’s relentless when in the presence of elegant gentlemen
The villains have taken their vengeance
I regret to say they’ve collected the evidence
Repent and pretend every entrance is open to tenants with references
Declare myself president of the emptiness
Say I’m Rembrandt of dancing on the precipice
Eleven years in and trying to stay relevant
But based on what’s left of the remnants of my intestines
I would guess I’ve ingested the medicine
Yes, I’ve been everywhere but everywhere that I’ve been
I’ve been out of my element, even in my own skin
And I can’t begin to think what I’d tell people back home
So I tell it to the microphone
I can’t leave the life alone – yeah.