Sing Your Praise Of Progress

You Use To Ride On The Chrome Horse With Your Diplomat, Who Carried On His Shoulder A Siamese Cat.

Every Step Of The Way We Walk The Line Your Days Are Numbered, So Are Mine Time Is Pilin' Up, We Struggle And We Scrape We're All Boxed In, Nowhere To Escape

You're Gonna Have To Serve Somebody; Well, It May Be The Devil, Or It May Be The Lord, But You're Gonna Have To Serve Somebody.

Art Is A Never-ending Dance Of Illusions.

Situations Have Ended Sad, Relationships Have All Been Bad.