Drivers in the taxicabs
People live their roles
Thirty-five cents
Throw it in the toll
They don't know they're paying what is stealing all their food
They're forced into the melting pot where they're simmered and brewed
He loves being sick and he looks for a cure
(He loves being sick)

You can call this sane
You can call this eccentric
He marks his books with steak knives
All we are is lunch for the sky
Why can't we be jazz musicians?
A little melody will soon be missing
All we are is lunch for the sky

Let's all play the lottery so we can buy all our dreams
I'm a self-help video with the worst themes
Everything I wanted was all in a dream
I still wasn't much or was that just how I seem?
He loves being sick and he looks for a cure
(He loves being sick)

I stood back to the countryside
I asked if you'd like to take a ride
My moods came in two stages
God-awful and contagious
I can't tell you what I want to say
The city digested yesterday
Death is not the end it is the cure