Recorded by Jon Donnell, mixed and mastered by Ron Harrity
It's measured in the flames from a burning couch
just how badly we have disgraced ourselves now.
And when we've gotta give mouth to mouth
we make a big show about how we're not aroused.
Cause the ambulance is only being driven in the hopes that it might crash.
The thread is being woven with desire to catch.
The firefighter strikes the match.
Now Milk, your's is not to spill.
See the skeleton hand of the civic man at your windowsill.
Some ceiling tiles have fallen from the palace roof, the dentist has contempt for the missing tooth.
And when we ferment the lightbulb for it's juice
we pay no mind to all the eyesight we might lose.
The city's health inspector tells a lie because he wants tot stay home.
The monorail conductor doesn't mind he lives alone.
The dialtone swallowed the phone.
Now one two three four five six seven stop.