Financial Zone

Down in the financial zone
The steam comes from beneath the pavement
High on stress or high on speed
Nobody wants to know
Broken vending machine and yellow paint
Smells like nothing and smells like plastic chemicals
Nobody wants to know, no

Elevator is going down
It's thirty flights to welcome ground
Eyes on plastic numbers
Nobody wants to know
He thinks of when his father died
He felt nothing
It's some kind of psychic suicide
As the elevator doors open
It's over
It's over
It's over
It's over

It might as well be in the desert
The daily killings and the lifeless land
It's hollow and it's pale
It's silent as it's blind
It's not just me or what I see
But a simple calculation
Nobody wants to know
It's over
It's over
It's over
It's over