Lyrics from the song, “This Place is a Prision,” by The Postal Service. Thought it was appropriate for our Red Bulls stuck in Iraq:
And these people aren’t your friends
Inhaling thrills through $20 bills
And the tumblers are drained and then flooded again
There’re guards at the on ramps armed to be teeth
And you may case the grounds from the cascades to puget sound,
But you are not permitted to leave
I know there’s a big world out there like the one I saw on the screen
In my living room late last night,
It was almost too bright to see
And i know that it’s not a party if it happens every night
Pretending there’s glamour and candelabra
When you’re drinking by candlelight
What does it take to get a drink in this place?
What does it take, how long must i wait?
Minus the cocaine implications, of course…but the sentiment seems right, after about ten months “in the box.” Maybe you’d have to hear the song to catch my drift…