Dust Through A Fan

High heel boys dancing in the noise Bright lights blind it is play time Silver screen smut in the tomb of Mr. Tut Standing tall over head these are the living dead Stir the Persian smack, see young faces crack Sold their souls for s*x and greed in the bathroom in the back You never know what you might see up in the apple tree Your time is short how disappointed god must be They are lovers of their own selves Unthankful and proud blasphemers Disobedient, boaster, unholy, and loud A fine snow from Bogota has everybody lying down I see them crawl like a snake their noses to the ground They'll take you for all they can Your just putty in their hands Your slipping and sliding in quicksand Your like the dust blown through a fan I've seen the poor, seen the needy Pitied the rich despised the greedy I've seen the dirty the unclean I've seen the worst things ever been I've seen the lost, seen the saved Children cry at Morrison's grave I've seen the bruised in the night Grown men cry in broad daylight --- Dust Through a Fan - Bride