Was it a huntsman or a player
that made you pay the cost
that now assumes relaxed positions
And prostitutes your loss?
Were you tortured by your own thirst
in those pleasures that you seek
that made you Tom the Curious;
that makes you James the Weak?
And you claim you've got something going,
something you call unique,
but I've seen your self-pity showing
as the tears rolled down your cheeks.

'Cause I lost my job two weeks before Christmas.
And I talked to Jesus at the sewer
and the Pope said it was none of his God-damned business.
While the rain drank champagne,
my Estonian archangel came and got me wasted.
'Cause the sweetest kiss I ever got is the one I've never tasted.
Oh, but they'll take their bonus pay to Molly McDonald.
Neon lady, beauty is that which obeys, is bought or borrowed.

Born in the troubled city
in rock and roll USA
in the shadow of the tallest building,
I vowed I would break away.
Listened to the Sunday actors
but all they would ever say:
That you can't get away from it.
No you can't get away.
No you can't get away from it.
No you can't get away.

I've played every kind of gig there is to play now.
I've played faggot bars, hooker bars, motor cycle funerals,
in opera houses, concert halls, halfway houses.
Well, I found that in all these places that I've played
all the people that I've played for are the same people.
So if you'll listen, maybe you'll see someone you know in this song.
A most disgusting song.