Out exchanging pleasantries in a railroad thunder morning The air too thick to get a word in A shoot em up again last night a banker told a watchmen As the city takes to rising to its opportunities A gold rush and a slave ship walk together down the main Strip handing literature to blind rats that gather for a meal But the postmen don't work for free, At least that's what they claim to be A messenger is a messenger, no matter if they shoot or run Oh you can't be the last one to know It seemed like word got around But you can't deny the sound The grand parental moral debt protects its own against All threats to liberty, security, and words of certain kinds But the matchmakers are praised for their omnipotent ancient ways Of pointing out the rainbows Just after the storm Oh you can't be the last one to know It seemed like word got around But you can't deny the sound It's hard to pronounce sorrow in the face of men of Constant borrowed loyalty to language, as if tattooed on their arms, Like a curbside gutter drain, A sentence can't catch everything, And American commandments, are weathering on the stone Oh you can't be the last one to know It seemed like word got around But you can't deny the sound