This Place Is a Prison
Inhaling thrills through twenty dollar bills and the
Tumblers are drained and then flooded again and again
There are guards at the on ramps armed to the teeth
And you may case the grounds from the
Cascades to Puget Sound, but you are not
Permitted to leave
I know there's a big world out there like the
One I saw on the screen
In my living room late last night,
It was almost too bright to see
And I know that it's not a party if it happens every night
Pretending there's glamor and candelabra
When you're drinking by candlelight
What does it take to get a drink in this place?
What does it take, how long must I wait?
Autor(es): Ben Gibbard / The Postal Service