There is a guy from the Sun-Tribune
Staking out my house in a Chevy Impala
Since yesterday noon
Should I speak to him
Or just stay quiet
They hear the whistle blow and
Out pours the blood of my child
A tablespoon of codeine
Will put you right to bed
I don't want any more codeine
Wanted to make it
On my own tonight
My own tonight
So I said some things
That can't be said
About a ritual tower, the uses of
More American dead
And what happened in
September was a fake
But they're chasing demolition
Or remote controlled planes
Whatever you do
You have to commit
And whatever you do
You have to put your blood into it
So I said some things
That can't be said
From the FAA, the empty desk
Of Alan Armisted