Runway Runaway
(March 2006)
Mannequin soldiers everywhere, display colors they deem to be true.
The fashion mob has their direct attention; gangsters of the new age.
Where 'look at me' personalities outweigh functional character and decency
And spirituality becomes confused with sexuality and a crass grip on privacy
They walk the streets as if on a Hollywood runway
Or a fox who's just picked the lock to the chicken coop.
Only care in the world is for what's coming squarely unto them.
And attention they'll get, and attention they crave.
But at the end of the day, at the end of their time
The attention accrued, ain't worth a nickel, never mind a dime.
A society moving at a breakneck speed
But there's still children here that can't read
Yet our models, our athletes, our icons
They're hooked on the high life, and our children, they're hooked on the greed
While occupants of the windowless tenement, they're flocking to the street
The Jones' are out in front, but I'm staying behind
We have no need for the white picket fence.
Throw it in the pot belly stove, let it burn us some warm love.
Take the tiny red sports cars, all lined up in a row
Push them off a cliff, and sell the scraps to the homeless
Now take a bow
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