Lyrics

She talks in her hateful tones
He tries but he chokes
House built on ungrateful loans
Shoved down a poor man's throat

Black eyes and blue collars
White powder on the walls
The water's slowly rising
When you've hit bottom, at least you can't fall

And when the writer's run out
Of reason and rhyme
The poorest will have nothing left
But alcohol and debt

And when the pipe has run out
Of solace, we will shine
In the sun
In a fearful sweat