Fifteen stories high, the black curtains drawn
And the sun is just a brat that spits then goes away
The TV chatters, there's a pile of letters lying on the mat
Reminders and bills, they smell of cats

Three starving cats who chase each others shadows
Curl up on him overnight they're scratching him they're biting him
But he lost the will to fight, and he lost the will to move, simply lost the will to move

It's been a month, will be another, 'til they're busting down the door
And carry him away, and strip him clean and lock him in a padded box some fifteen stories high
Where the sun is just a brat that spits then goes away

The more it changes the more it stays the same
The more it changes the more it stays the same
The more it changes the more it stays the same