Before the bitching and the bore
The end of the cold war
The principles they were apparent
The bucket beside the door
The shoulder carries more
Than the sum of all our parts together
It's extraneous, aware
Did you say to us, I don't care
There's dust on my particulars
Of that you can be certain
It's times like these when I'm alone
I miss the iron curtain
Oh 65
Oh 65
Now the trouble with hanging out
Is the frequency of doubt
As it enters in the new equation
In the circus of the stars
There's the likelihood that ours
Is just a cheaper form of neurosis
It's extraneous, aware
Did you say to us, I don't care
There's dust on my particulars
Of that you can be certain
It's times like these when I'm alone
I miss the iron curtain
The good things they proceed to rot
The uselessness of smoking pot
When you think of things
You haven't got to say
Oh 65
Oh 65
Oh 65
Oh 65
