Lyrics:

Let's go get out in the street
Somebody's gotta
Let's get the stars to align
For lambs of slaughter

In the photograph
Their eyes make a signal path
And the feeling goes on and on and on and on and on
And on and on and on

Don't it feel like Friday night?
Cars are all lined up
Let it go push you around
What's it amount to?

Card sharks and street preachers want my soul
Up-sellers and palm readers want my soul
Post sermon socialites
Park chanters and skin-tights
All they want's my soul
Yeah, they want my soul

In the photograph
Your eyes make a signal path
And the feeling goes on and on and on and on and on
And on and on and on

Let's go lose track of time
Somebody's gotta
Let's get the stars to align
For lambs of slaughter

Educated folk singers want my soul
Jonathon Fisk, still he wants my soul
I got nothing I want to say to them
They got nothing, nothing I want
All they want's my soul
Yes, yes I know it
They want my soul

They want my soul
Oh why