Years ago I was anxious to talk
I spoke my mind to all who would listen
Times do change, thoughts have become my little secrets
Television cameras seem so out of place
Reporters leap at me in desperation
Why or why, do I feel like lying?
Why should I answer these vultures?
Asking me what I saw
Did I see the driver of the car
who hit my wife and children?
They don’t want the truth they’re just looking for a story
They want tears, or shouts of anger
But no swearing, keep it clean but gory
What would they do if I were to talk about the booze
or the drugs which buy and sell the new
And make some idiot jump the curb
And in one moment take my life away
Not getting what they want
They all tape my family’s mangled bodies
Soon the flashing lights are gone as are the TV cameras
I guess I should have said something, but what could I say
You’ll never see me again
I was just some haunted face on the 11 o’clock news
But someday you’ll feel the same way I do
About how people act, how they lie, steal and cheat making money
It’s all about making moneyCausing pain, making money
People are starving, homeless and bleak
Watching others making money
It’s all about making money