The American Dream
You got American apple pie in the trunk of your Japanese Car.
Everyday you see the super-city hocus-pocus and you've fallen prey to its allure.
Your six-figure salary makes your eyes glitter so that you don't even see how it's made you so bitter.
You're at the top of the world,
the height of your game;
but then you dine out with old friends
who say, "You just ain't the same."
You're a power-broker
bossman, always the first on the scene.
If someone
dares beat you tomorrow the next day you'll
reign supreme.
You've had too much
success, it's
gone straight to your head.
"Listen,"
you say.
"Cut me a piece of that gold pie instead."
The Dream's a hallucination,
the hallucination a cure
for the shocking realization that
your life's just a blur.
But that you don't mind 'cuz you got something that's in.
You got the American Dream--
What a sin.