I've got my bastionnYou've got your shellnYou're always pushingnOn what you dwellnSo I've been thinkingnWhat's up with that?nYou've got your shantynI've got my campnnYou rarely mentionnthe broader factsnYou sing your sirennWe get used to thatnWe open building doorsnfor working classnYou step in the waynof CadillacsnnYou're only kicking rocks from the eaves nAnd your aim is highnI see you hanging like a scarecrow nwhen your fields are drynYou're only kicking rocks from the eaves nAnd you aim too highnI get up and fill my haymow in the morningnnI hear the reverendsnwhining in the backnI wished I had a czarnjust to deal with thatnI've got to move onnand cut the slacknTwo point five millionnwon't hold me backnnWhen will you light my soul?nThe city nights are coldnWhen will you light my soul?nnI don't care how punk rock you want to benIt just doesn't mean anything here to menI don't care how punk rock you want to benIt just doesn't mean anythingn