The Burning City Smoking

40 million refugees
With no place on this Earth to call their home
One for every aimless graduate
With nothing else to show for it but loans

And those of us who make our mark
Use someone else's blood
Our western stain won't wash away
It won't vanish in the flood

It seeps deeper through each hurricane
And tidal wave and war, oh, whoa, oh, oh
We want everything we see and once it's gone we just want more

Atlas had those shoulders
We've got Ambien and Jamesons and blow
To bind us in a bubble, keep the newsprint nightmare distant and remote
But when we wake in guillotines and pitch our screaming fits
When the governor strikes up the band and gags our parted lips

When the worst case shows up
Dressed and dazzling ready for the ball, oh, whoa, oh, oh
But that bubbles bound to burst and what a tragic way to fall

The tabloids tell us hate the rat
Who strikes those subways closed and puts you out
Forget those 50 hour tunnel weeks
Inhaling steel dust poison through his mouth

Well, if he don't deserve a pension
That makes his family feel secure
If we're now so disconnected
It's our reflections we ignore

And if our constant choice is skimming
Past the writing on the wall, oh, whoa, oh, oh
Then I'm sad to say we're lost and I'm embarrassed for us all

So most days I can't put to rest
The burning city smoking in my mind
And I play and pretend
The principles are nothin' more than actors runnin' lines

And I stumble through a movie set
Where tortured victims laugh
And embedded journalists
Who juggle knives and daggered glass

While they entertain a mob of heads
Of state and CEOs, oh, whoa, oh, oh
I stagger past anarchist extras through saloon doors painted gold

So I turn and I see Uncle Sam outside a wardrobe ready for a shoot
So I walk right up and talk to him
I tell him that I'm scared and I'm confused

While they test the cameras out and get the lighting right
While the catering fills coffee cups and carves up apple pie

And while the stylists trim his beard
And straighten those lapels, oh, whoa, oh, oh
I ask his empire eyes what made him drive us straight to Hell?

And as my daydream ends
He stands ashamed, a shocked and shattered shell
But there's never any answer for my starving tongue to tell, whoa, oh, oh, oh
'Cause the director shouted, "Action!"
And from offset it's just as well