No Hunger

This movie's too slow for me There's nothing left to be Everybody is a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy And all these reruns I've already seen Hope I'm not too late, baby Take your fingers out That rope you brought is too short, baby There won't be no twist and shout I don't mean to disappoint you But this is America This is the South Kicking myself, I'll keep kicking myself Til my heart comes out my mouth This movie's too slow for me There's nothing left to be And everybody is just copying but that machine is running out of ink So, good luck, copying me There's no hunger There's no discomfort We're all still too close to our mothers But no one's taking care of you now And no one's giving you a thing What will you take? What will you break? What will you bring? What will you learn?