hyperchondriac (hyperchondriac) wrote,
hyperchondriac
hyperchondriac

Every man for himself,


The sun is setting,


Silhouettes in the ditches, or am I imagining?


Empty the prisons, did you hear me?


Every man for himself,


Every credit is back and clean,


Your man is up to his neck in it.


The only way is up and out,


Did you hear me? Over and out.

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