Lyrics
Serching for somewhere, some place they can hide. Somewhere they can escape all the judgemental eyes and share a simple embrace, a loving caress, a token of affection like the rest of us.
Hey, Hey.
Well, the Garden of Eden's no place to be making love, so get your clothes back on and get your asses back to work.
Over your shoulder there's some non-descript man giving hand signals to the men in some non-descript van. And, just 'round the corner, the guy thats selling magazines waits 'till you pass by then starts talking into his sleeve. And that bag lady, sleeping across from your house of worship, waits until you go inside then radios your coordinates.
Hey, hey.
Well, the Garden of Eden is under code orange now, so mind your tounge 'cause they're recording every word every sound.
Nothing ever feels quite the way that it once did when new sensations touched your skin the first time. And no one ever loves quite the way that they once loved, before their heart was smashed to pieces one time.
Just one time.
Taken for granted, all the things that we hold dear. We assume they're carved in stone, that they will always be here. 'Just takes a few corrupt men, with a common vision, to dismantle all the progress of generations.
Yeah, the stroke of a pen can bring so much to an end and send us marching on adventures vague and uncertain.
Hey, hey.
Well, the Garden of Eden is infiltrated, again, not by a fork tounged viper, but self righteous men, who've taken it upon themselves to decide whats right and wrong, saved us the trouble, told us what we can and can't do in our own homes.
Nothing ever seems to go straight to hell in one night. It sinks down, slowly and unnoticed, in plain sight. And no one ever questions what they know are blatant lies, when the one who speaks them claims that God is on his side.
Out in the distance, beyond the firelight, these figures are lurking just out of sight. The armchair generals are restless, they've got fresh meat on their minds. Don't you dare put it past them, son, they'll eat their own kind.
The smell of our sweat carries out over the wind. they're not as afraid of us, my friend, as we are of them.
Hey, hey.
Well, the Garden of Eden, it went for the highest bid and the natives were forced out by new development. They were replaced by those who could afford the land of the free, the human sheep, just grazing in their gated communities.
Nothing ever feels quite the way that it once did when new ideas took shape within a young mind. And no one ever cries quite as hard as they cry, when they realize all that they've believed in is just
