Ive seen faces in the window Ive seen faces in the street They walk and talk of nothing Ive known many restless summers The sand dunes I imagine A place without a postcard Flower people were so beautiful But straight and louds the way Good luck the beatnik spirit The talk of politicians The sentences of cynics Are the sentences of childhood Theyre all talking shit to me Outtalked by the mass media To pay the bills it lies And the lies we eat for breakfast Brave faces face the boardroom The oak stained walls fall silent They leave lined with defeat And they got those tears in their eyes Well it makes no sense to me Why dont they understand Were so ordinary too I saw the exits closing now Pain and passions my point of view Well theres nothing like the truth Ive seen men that have been marked out Ruled out by grim assassins They fell hard on instant replay And Im never going there Well the place I see so much better Cos it makes no sense to me I saw the exits closing now Burning mountains, burning paper Burning all around and later
sentence, exit, burning, face, closing