White Bread

nothing’s ever open in this town
everything closes at sundown
it wouldn’t be worth the risk
and business is never that brisk

everyone’s related to everyone else
and they all know their arse from a hole in the ground
if you can’t find it with both hands and a flashlight
step right in they’re made round to go around

what’s that sound?

that’s the sound of a lonely man
banging his head against a partition wall

no comfort to the enemy no way at all
if you don’t who’s driving there’s a number you can call

America Americans American bucks
the signs are explicit the back of the trucks say
gun control means both hands on the rifle
I’ll keep my guns and money you can keep the change

never been anywhere in this world at all
out beyond the confines of these four walls
there’s a bus you can catch that goes somewhere else
but why would you ever want to leave here

what’s that sound?

that’s the sound of a lonely man
banging his head against a partition wall

that’s the sound of shoot to kill
dispossession 
gun law 
bodies falling
white bread built this land of milk and money
you won’t forget that in a hurry here

white bread white America small town sundown
white bread white America small town sundown
white bread white America small town sundown


© Eric Goulden / Wreckless Eric / Fire Publishing 2015