Perfect Solution - The Hobos

Short-cut to the way back

Wound up down the street where

Intoxicated bums kissed your bride

True love was supposed to beat

The tambourine in a church where the monks swayed

But now they’re gone

You’re sold out, you’re broken down

With your hands against your own monument

Would you recognise

Your fathers smile in your president’s eyes?

And would you die?

Die for hatred long born

Prison clothes never worn

And would you cry?

When you’re sold out, you’re broken down

With your hands against your own monument

Its a perfect solution

So you climb through time up to cloud number nine

But your stuck or stopped

And no-one knows that you’re fucked up

But your arms are so warm, can do me no harm

Wanna ring the bell in hell of charm

You’re sold out, you’re broken down

With your hands against your own monument

Well it’s a perfect solution

It’s a perfect solution