The Big Parade

You watch the tequila sunrise among those roaring hills,

then the technicians tears that scenery down and asks you:

Please produce a backstage pass.



Company officials ask you to leave,

yeah, the contract says the've been licensed to drill.



Among ten thousand different top secret,

yet public available bureaus,

two urge you to sue,

five says: don't mind.



One of them (The drill corp)

gives you fifty K

and a contract that reads:

move along

move along

there's nothing for you to see here.



It was a nice parade,

that halloween colored tanker.

It was a nice booming sound,

for atleast what? fifty days,

and forty miles around?



Then the money's all spent,

and you light the ciggarette with your tap,

thinking:

fuck

fuck

fuck

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