Must we all be liars, shivering, afraid
In the beds we made?
The pasts we trade?
The present a pleasant, coffee-hit parade;
While constantly we fail to make the grade;
Desperately praying that alcohol and lemonade,
Easy, fast applied temporary band-aid
Passing on and on a home made
Loathing and fear hand grenade
Will sufficiently damage the Tomorrow Barricade?