Fame throwa pass out the gold, the diamond
Watch, the last reward, all the things we had
Before you sold us out and took it all
Head-borne cries from zenith sluts, astral

Rites from dead-end ruts
These kids are sick-end wars
"One of the nation's spies
One of our first recruits

Click with her leather thighs
One of our first recruits"
How can you know? In the distance lies
A grower, nee rode off, king fame throwa

Son of groupie, red-worn sexan, spent his
Cash convincing us that the desert was
A starscape and sold our lives for a
Satellite so we could cry

"Naked, naked foul"

Copyright: Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., WORDS & MUSIC A DIV OF BIG DEAL MUSIC LLC
Writer(s): Scott Kannberg, Stephen Joseph Malkmus