Everybody´s talking like they can´t sit down
And looking like they can´t stand up
It must be the lastest style
And they´ve seen a lot of things that you never see
Back on the mile up to the hanging tree
Some people can´t keep their fingers clean
Just clicking their heels to the beat of the scene
Trying to keep careen until the first edition of last night´s obituries
Jump up - hold on tight
Can´t trust the promise or a guarantee
´Cause the man ´round the curve says that he´s never heard
Of you or me

No tombstone would ever surprise me
When I´m locked in a room about half the size of a matchbox
Got holes in my socks
They match the ones that I got in my feet
I put my feet in the holes in the street and somebody paved me over
I was a statue standing on the corner
Tell me, how else can a boy get to see those pretty pleats?

Candidate talkin´ on the radio from the "Cheaters Jamboree"
It must be their lastest fool
´Cause it´s a two-horse race and he changed his bets
Like it was just another brand of cigarettes

Some people judge and they just guess the rest
They can´t understand that don´t mean that you´re blessed
They ought to catch the Express Next Stop No Where
That way you can forget

Jump up - hold on tight
Can´t trust the promise or a guarantee
´Cause the man ´round the curve says that he´s never heard
Of you or me