Sixpence None The Richer

This is my forty-fifth depressing tune
they're looking for money as they clean my artistic womb
and when I give birth to the child
I must take to flight
cause the black in our pocket won't let us fight
a proper fight
so hey baby
can you shade some lights on the problem maybe
cause we're all dieing and we'd like to know
if we should pack our tents shutdown the show
Yes we should to see a burning bush type sign
but anything would be fine
We're all told to dance but we never pick the tune
hanging like puppet they feed us from bent steel spoon
but we're sealing out lips