Songtexte: These United States. Get Yourself Home (In Search of the Mistress..).

Can't you smell your brain cells buzzing? Can't you feel that train around the bend?
Don't you hear your mother calling you: "Come in, oh dear, from the rain and the wind...
"Where you think you're going to get to, strung up so high upon that kite?"
These clouds don't have anything for you, no.
Can't you feel the lighting strike?

You better get your self home. You better. Get your self home.
You better get your self home, boys and girls!
It's a wicked world.
It's a wicked world.

And no one here remembers mourning.
No one places tulips in the earth.
Everyone ignores the warning signs, most preferring death to birth.
Oh, but you!
You came here searching for the mistress whose kisses are famous.
You found like us that all her lessons are saccharine and dangerous.

Now you better get your self home. You better. Get your self home.
You better get your self home, boys and girls! It's a wicked world.

Oh!
Oh no!
Oh, no! Now!
Oh, no! Go, now!
You! You wandered in just like a lover, in trouble, under deep cover of night, your eyes distorting all the colors.
But blood is crimson, not clover.

You better get your self home.
You better. Get your self home.
You better get your self home, boys and girls!
It's a wicked world.