If you find yourself standing
At the end of your line
Looking for a piece of something
Maybe peace of mind
Fed up, lost, and run down
Nowhere to hold on
Tired of, "Take your place at the end, son
We'll get to you one by one"
No light ever shines
Dead end tears that dry
Maybe a waste of words and time
Never a waste of life
Every hour will be spent
Filling a quota, just getting along
Handcuffs hurt worse
When you've done nothing wrong
No thanks to the treadmill
No thanks to the grindstone
There's plenty of dissent from
These rungs below
The clockwork of destruction
Hanging low over our heads
Always a smokestack cloud
Or a slow-walking death
No light ever shines
Dead end tears that dry
Maybe a waste of words and time
Never a waste of life
No thanks to the treadmill
No thanks to the grindstone
There's plenty of dissent from
These rungs below
The clockwork of destruction
Hanging low over our heads
Always a smokestack cloud
Or a slow-walking death
No light ever shines
Dead end tears that dry
Maybe a waste of words and time
Never a waste of life
Maybe a waste of words and time
Never a waste of life
At the end of your line
Looking for a piece of something
Maybe peace of mind
Fed up, lost, and run down
Nowhere to hold on
Tired of, "Take your place at the end, son
We'll get to you one by one"
No light ever shines
Dead end tears that dry
Maybe a waste of words and time
Never a waste of life
Every hour will be spent
Filling a quota, just getting along
Handcuffs hurt worse
When you've done nothing wrong
No thanks to the treadmill
No thanks to the grindstone
There's plenty of dissent from
These rungs below
The clockwork of destruction
Hanging low over our heads
Always a smokestack cloud
Or a slow-walking death
No light ever shines
Dead end tears that dry
Maybe a waste of words and time
Never a waste of life
No thanks to the treadmill
No thanks to the grindstone
There's plenty of dissent from
These rungs below
The clockwork of destruction
Hanging low over our heads
Always a smokestack cloud
Or a slow-walking death
No light ever shines
Dead end tears that dry
Maybe a waste of words and time
Never a waste of life
Maybe a waste of words and time
Never a waste of life
envoyé par Bernart Bartleby - 21/10/2019 - 21:26
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Scritta da Jay Farrar (Uncle Tupelo, Son Volt, Gob Iron e parecchi lavori da solista)
Nell'album "March 16–20, 1992"
No, grazie, alla routine. No, grazie al lavorare sodo (letteralmente, la mola). No al "Prendi posto al fondo della coda, figliolo". No all'orologio della distruzione appeso sopra la testa. No ad una vita trascorsa in una nuvola di fumo, come morti viventi. No alla repressione se appena osi alzare la testa, e quelle manette strette che fanno ancora più male se non hai fatto nulla...