What is the medicine du jour Open slowly the mirror door The phone keeps ringing 'cause there's nobody home. You blew down the buildings across the street Still picking glass out of my feet The smoke won't clear for another 20 years. And if you breath real hard, you'll fog the windows of the car No one will see your black feather wings. Growing a little weary of you Rubbing my face in your self-righteous Artsy-fartsy ego extravaganza. I should have known that if you work real hard The only thing you get is really tired. Good guys are losers, at least that's how you make it seem, With your baseball bat and black feather wings. Slap it against your hand and try to make us understand The way you think with those black feather wings. While they're making love with themselves and all the money You're hidden behind the curtain with your eyes open wide They always lie, they promise you wonderful things. They never said you'd grown horns or black feather wings.