The moon is hanging in the purple sky The baby's sleeping while its mother sighs Talking about the rich folks The rich folks have the same jokes And they park in basic places The priest is preaching from a shallow grave He counts his money, then he paints you safe Talking to the young folks The young folks share the same jokes But they meet in older places So don't tell me about your success Nor your recipes for my happiness Smoking bed I never could digest The illusions you claim to have going The sun is shining as it's always done Carbon dust is a phase of everyone Talking about the rich folks The poor create the rich hoax And only laid breastfed fools believe it So don't tell me about your success Nor your recipes for my happiness Smoking bed I never could digest The illusions you claim to have going © transcript Emily Beynon