곡 정보

The moon is hanging
In the purple sky
Baby's sleeping
While its mother sighs

Talking 'bout the rich folks
Rich folks have the same jokes
And they park in basic places

The priest is preaching
From a shallow grave
He counts his money
Then he paints you saved

Talking to the young folks
Young folks share the same jokes
But they meet in older places

Chorus
So don't tell me about your success
Nor your recipes for my happiness
Smoke in bed, I never could digest
Those illusions you claim to have going

Verse 2
The sun is shining
As it's always done
Coffin dust
Is the fate of everyone

Talking 'bout the rich folks
The poor create the rich hoax
And only late breast-fed fools, believe it

Chorus
So don't tell me about your success
Nor your recipes for my happiness
Smoke in bed, I never could digest
Those illusions you claim to have going