LYRICS

I miss the candy queens
I met the chords, they're so many
Sound to die a nicest spell
Send them all back to hell

[instrumental break]

American nightmare, guilty generation
Fingers on the post, of their parents' alienation
From the histories, histories
Of western civilization

The gift of our feelings like youths
Was wasted on the fickle wife
I slept in California Hills
And gave the stuff the sleeping pills

And waste for the dollar bills
The painters say we're going to hell

[instrumental break]

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