Carolina

Going to move to Carolina
Pack the cats. Pack the kid
There's a moon in Carolina
That's where we'll live

The fingers of your neighbors on the dirty dirty windows as you stare into the skyline from the bed
The Old Hump and his Lap Dog sitting pretty in the parlor quoting from the favorite books they've never read
All those years of smiling as he's lying to the clients has disfigured the Old Hump from within
Imaginary enemies have left him tense and jittеry, backstabbing his ever shrinking group of friends

Brokеn escalator

There's a moon in Carolina
Pack the kid. Pack the cats
Going to move to Carolina
Don't think we're coming back

The Lap Dog, Lickspittle, whispers venom to his master, then sits patiently, biding his time
The venom works like clockwork triggering the Old Hump's ourtburst and that's when he lands him the sharp knives
The price of their betrayal is to be turned into nothing, the bare outlines of a pretty cliché
A scrap creased in the wallet of my dirty dirty memories turning slowly a tattered gray

Lickspittle