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• Artiste: Office
• Titre: The Silent Parade
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Roaming down the strip Of Venice Beach, we trip Over tie-dyed T-shirts Skirts and purses Into a head shop for some papers and cigarettes Chased by a man in a dress A decrepit sun-baked mess Preaching through his plastic Vodka bottle, full-throttle towards the perplexed tourists I must be at the finish line Of the Westward Expansion Queers, freaks, babes, and gypsies take a nosedive Into the unknown Body builders flex Their spray-on copper pecs Soak up the radiation Drive-through nations get their kicks at the solar stations Two-headed puppies race If you've got a buck to waste The helicopters above us Already know us El Chupacabra and Britney have joined us I must be at the finish line Of the Westward Expansion Queers, freaks, babes, and gypsies take a nosedive Into the unknown Let's pack our things and go The van's in reverse I'll take the final verse To let you know the days are real once again I hope that makes you feel better Take my hand, fuck the rest of them We don't need the pain of money and fame 'Cause I know it never makes us feel better I've cut them off Those who scorn and scoff At everything they can't comprehend 'Cause I know it'll make us sleep better I hope that makes you feel better I hope that makes you feel better