In The Chorus of Muffled Voices

You loosen your lovestill it follows on the ground Through springtime and through autumn And frozen winter ground And you reach for metaphors As the bartender he pours Laughing at our muffled voices And the strain on vocal cords and sex Some watch where they're standing Some where they sit Me I watch where I'm walking If I don't I slip And I say bartender more And the bartender she pours As I lament muffled voices As my country goes to war again The street kids singing Who's gonna bow the wrong way? Who's gonna bow the wrong way? Who's gonna bow the wrong way? Same as the last ones These babies born on doomsday They don't get any sleep See 'em lining up for refunds On the numbered streets And on the receipt it's written They were starved into submission By a times square looking monolith With wall street stinking onion breath The street kids singing Who's gonna die of old age? Who's gonna die of old age? You're gonna die of old age Same as the last ones