There’s a new war coming. It lives in the wires of an oven, and the pockets of
the jeans that you love, and the hair of the woman that you covet.
Money you love it, and you sure can’t live without it but you got a hole up in
your pocket the size of the lover in your locket. And the skies will all turn
violet, your scared and your silent. Quiet as a newborn violin. But maybe that’s
the new kind of violence. Money I love it, and I sure can’t live without it, oh but
I got a hole up in my pocket.