The tree trunks look like open gates For the wild, the state of day. But by night they turn to the bars On the prison windows of our roads. All the dark secrets are inside them And they're looming in front of you. Why don't you stay in your little village? Cause we're no more wild and you've got so much work to do. So yeah, we can stop at the state park with our bellies full And not go too far from the little car. But if we were gonna do that, why don't we just drive out to wal-mart And hang out in the parking lot? It's almost dawn. And the streetlights look like moons