Subhumans

In a smoke-filled room
"How's it going then?".
It's not going at all.
We got no more gigs.
You always knew it could be better.
But you never thought it would end
It only happens 'cause of other people.
All the money that that they spend
On David Bowie LPs.
When I told her we were finished
She smoked a cigarette and sighed
"One last fag before we go home."
She said she loved me then she died.
It doesn't happen like this.
So you always get what you pay for.
But the end result is always the same
You lose everything you always wanted.
Because you couldn't afford to pay.
All the smoke-filled room contains
Dejected people with no aims.
A bottle of gin, a packet of cigs.
Sing, brother, sing, we got no more gigs.
Sing, brother, sing, we got no more gigs.
Does it really matter?
Do you really care?