I guess hiding out on Hastings Street is gonna be the death of me
The red eyed man with the shiny badge is beating down on my brother
And won’t stop to hear his pleas
And now he’s looking my way, as I fumble with my inhaler
It must look like some kind of impaler
While drawing my last breath, he draws his piece
For weary travelers who’ve lost their way, their GPS, their moral compass
For those who’ve stumbled into all the wrong places, for all the right reasons
Well there’s a place that'll leave the light on for you,
It’s looking back at me, it’s all connected
Walking through heaven’s gates, or wherever the hell this might be
The irony’s not lost on me,
That the first soul I see is the one I put down
Oh, six feet feet in the ground.
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