Lyrics:

johnny hopson was a good man
he used to loan me books and mic stands
he even got me a subscription
to the socialist review
listening to records in his basement
old folk songs about the government
it's love of money not the market
he said 'these fuckers push on you'

and freedom yells
it don't cry
whatever sells will decide
but there's no hell
when you die
so don't look so worried

he got a nightlife, lost his dayjob
pushing paper, swinging pendulums
anything to serve a function
or to occupy some time
you gotta earn this living somehow
you're good as dead without a bank account
but it's funny how alive he felt down
in that unemployment line
with all that trash at his feet
the pools of piss in the street
all of that filthy empathy
for the way we're feeling

the billboards shade
the flags they wave
the anthem was playing loud
the baseball game was lettin' out
and all at once he saw the dust
and heard every tiny sound
got in his truck and turned around
drove out through the crowd
and the cops
drove out past
that center mall
drove out past that sickening sprawl
out past that fenced in gold
and maybe he lost control
fuckin' with the radio
but i bet the stars
seemed so close
at the end
at the end
at the end
at the end
at the end