Fame Throwa

Fame throwa pass out the gold, the diamond 
Watch, the last reward, all the things we had 
Before you sold us out and took it all. 
Head-borne cries from zenith sluts, astral 

Rites from dead-end ruts. 
These kids are sick-end wars 
"One of the nation's spies. 
One of our first recruits. 

Click with her leather thighs 
One of our first recruits." 
How can you know? In the distance lies 
A grower, nee rode off, king fame throwa 

Son of groupie, red-worn sexan: spent his 
Cash convincing us that the desert was 
A starscape and sold our lives for a 
Satellite so we could cry: 

"Naked, naked foul"