I search for the truth I find no luck. I search for solace in my friend the rock. And I have a friend on the telephone. A crystal and some cash and my tomorrow's known. Cross my legs and I am one. With what I was or I am to become. And I have the stars and some pixie dust. Oh, and Elvis nights on Thursday and it's a must. Chorus: Have your every thought just possibly. Your ideals are a twisted philosophy. By a man in a suit who loves currency. Or a woman who is called instability.
