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My taxes buy a weapon Through its sights I seeMy children squeeze the
trigger gently and I am filled with pride
In my Walls a crack is gaping Hope I don’t fall through it
Maybe my house needs to be put in order or actually maybe
better not
So what do you do? Console yourself
Kick back over a pot of comfort food
Fan the charcoal grillTake off with a glass of
“Ayalim” Arak
And sing that it’ll be fineSing so as not to starve
Sing so as to see there’s nothing to sing about
Sing another Consolation Song
The floor shakes beneath my feet
Must take care not to fall
Maybe my house needs to be put in order or actually maybe not
Could sit all day long and turn it over and
check it outToss and turn all nightNot sleep, not sleep
from it
It’s a heavy scene to take in though there’s absolutely not
logic in itBest not
Because there’s no solution to it
So what do you do? Console yourself
Take the lid off the panTake the morals out of the
ministersTake the messages out of the
songs
And sing it’ll be fineSing so as not to starve
Sing so as to see there’s nothing to sing about
Sing another Consolation Song
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