Like Jimmy Carter, like electric underwear. Like any idea that never had a chance to go anywhere, this is who you are...
A paid celebrity who drives off a bridge in a car, your beautiful body filling up with water.
Like Harry Truman dropping bombs out of the air, like any self-respecting multi-billionaire, this is who you are...
Five dancing teenage boys who sing their way into our hearts. Backstreet's back, alright.
And there's a toxic cloud hanging over; there's white noise on the screen. And there's a man in a hotel room assaulting a maid who just came to clean up the mess.
Backstreet's back, alright.
Like Ronald Reagan falling asleep forever more, dreaming of horses and dreaming of nuclear war. This is where we are tonight, everybody under survelliance from a satellite. You can be the first one on your block to die.
And there's a plague of locusts upon us and there's a nightmare in the swarm. And there's a lion out in the desert slouching to Bethlehem to be born again.
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