Artista: Channeling Owen
  Canción: The Agents Don't Read Poetry

Last night I was heading out into the night
Flim-flamming for the glittering moonlight.
I couldn't help but think of the days gone by,
Couldn't help but see that my friends have all died

BRIDGE:
In the suburbs, In their suits,
On the subways - cremated.
Money used for kindling.
Tombs made of aluminum siding...

Where should I be?
On the road,
With Kerouac and Ginsberg.
Jack, Matt/Stu and me,
In Mexico,
I'll bet we'd write a thousand tough poems.

So fuck your power-lunch pleasantries,
I deny your passionless pleasantries.

I won't live in the Skinner-Box made for me,
In a world where the agents don't read poetry.

CHORUS:
The agents don't read-poetry.
The agents don't read-poetry.
The agents don't read-poetry.
The agents don't read-poetry.

Repeat 2nd Verse

CHORUS