Set your wingtips on your soapbox.
Keep your conscience on my stashbox.
(They'll print your face on money)
Put your jackboots on my voice box.
Keep them focused on hollow subplots.
(They'll print your face on money)

Give them something to wave, something to shoot,
something well thought-out to refute.
They want to see if we're brave or just empty boots.
When the pig flies blind, double check for your name on the chute.

This is everything we've got.
(We're going nowhere)
The lies you tell yourself are the last ones caught.

Package scapegoats.
Smoke and stage lights
show us slit throat
to get the checks signed.
(They'll print your face on money)
There's no devil.
No evil sublime.
Only pennies
for the porcine.
(They'll print your face on money)

Give them shadows to blame,
shadows to shoot,
slogans sharp as a Sunday suit.
They're gonna keep us afraid
and eager to prove
that a place in line's worth a wink and a wave at the truth.

(They'll print your face on money)
Set your wingtips on your soapbox.
Put your jackboots on my voice box.
You're on your own.