they were digging a new foundation in manhattan   and they discovered a slave cemetary there   may their souls rest easy   now that lynching is frowned upon   and we've moved on to the electric chair   and i wonder who's gonna be president, tweedle dum or tweedle dummer?   and who's gonna have the big blockbuster box office this summer?   how about we put up a wall between houses and the highway   and you can go your way, and i can go my way   except all the radios agree with all the tvs   and the magazines agree with all the radios   and i keep hearing that same damn song everywhere i go   maybe i should put a bucket over my head   and a marshmallow in each ear   and stumble around for another dumb-numb week   for another hum drum hit song to appear      people used to make records   as in a record of an event   the event of people playing music in a room   now everything is cross-marketing   its about sunglasses and shoes   or guns and drugs   you choose   we got it rehashed   we got it half-assed   we're digging up all the graves   and we're spitting on the past   and you can choose between the colors   of the lipstick on the whores   cause we know the difference between   the font of 20% more   and the font of teriyaki   you tell me   how does it make you feel?   you tell me what's real?   and they say that alcoholics are always alcoholics   even when they're as dry as my lips for years   even when they're stranded on a small desert island   with no place within 2,000 miles to buy beer   and i wonder   is he different?   is he different?   has he changed? what's he about?...   or is he just a liar with nothing to lie about?      am i headed for the same brick wall   is there anything i can do about   anything at all?   except go back to that corner in manhattan   and dig deeper, dig deeper this time   down beneath the impossible pain of our history   beneath unknown bones   beneath the bedrock of the mystery   beneath the sewage systems and the path train   beneath the cobblestones and the water mains   beneath the traffic of friendships and street deals   beneath the screeching of kamikaze cab wheels   beneath everything i can think of to think about   beneath it all, beneath all get out   beneath the good and the kind and the stupid and the cruel   there's a fire that's just waiting for fuel      there's a fire just waiting for fuel   there's a fire just waiting for fuel   there's a fire just waiting