Stolen sneakers from the corporate mall
He gained his pension, now he's losing his soul
He treated people like the sand on the beach
He liked the feeling of them under his feet
He's come to realize success is nothing more than just a withered autumn leaf
Sitting alone on some tree

And when the weeds start to grow
We'll cut them down and they'll just come back
We've got some whistles to blow
We've got some chords to pull

Hey
He doesn't get much
Sleep these days

Sleep
It only makes you
tired of being awake

He roomed and borded with the chosen elite
And turned his back on all the people beneith
He dressed his wounds with the finest gowns
While we waited and waited for it to all trickle down
He's come to learn that this world is nothing more than just some paper painted green
And a set of golden teeth

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