Don't fuck with perfection, this really is a masterpiece   the brainchild of assholes with everything to lose   hell bent on forcing the burden of a religion   that demands if you're fucked, you'll stay fucked forever      try to kill the sound of all your hopes and dreams   it's easy street inside the gears of their machines   yeah, we do what we can to get by      like holding back the urge to walk into traffic and when   the workers' rights start cutting into the profits, what's left   eleven hours days leave you just enough to forget them   it's just a choice between a gun or a bottle, don't know   which one you'll teach for when you punch out tomorrow   so now get busy dying, or get busy forgetting   there's no way to win in a world that you never made      it's reliable failure we've all come to know   at the end of the day misery is all alone   the American dream is just saltpeter and shame   and now we're desperately grabbing a fistful of rain      try to kill the sound of all your hopes and dreams   it's easy street inside the gears of their machines   well we do what we can do   yeah, just do what you can to get by   and stay right where they want you   what's there to hold onto   things that will haunt you   night after night after night   stay right where they want you   you might believe that it's all true   can you ignore what will haunt you   every single night      all our fears just to keep us down   there's nothing here on our side of town   nothing's saved, it's been replaced   now it's buried in the rubble of a world that we never made