What a perfectly ghastly Friday the 22nd of May has turned out to be. The racing world is mourning the abrupt loss of Kyle Busch, the Tigers' newest star is driving in circles like a sat-nav with a nervous breakdown, and the Trump administration is Combatting Ebola by simply staring it into submission. Meanwhile, the Yanks are sending 5,000 troops to Poland just to keep them on their toes, and Alexi Lalas is telling the USMNT to stop blubbing about pressure—frankly, the only thing under more pressure than the American midfield is the average citizen trying to comprehend the news cycle. At least Stephen Colbert has buggered off to let us process the trauma in silence.
🎵 (s)Hit of the Day 🎵
Version 1
Version 2
📜 Lyrics 📜
[Verse 1]
Well the devil came collectin' on a Friday afternoon
Took a legend from the tarmac, sent the nation to the moon
Forty-one years old, now he's racin' on the clouds
We're mournin' in the grandstands while the living play the clowns
Yeah, a rookie in Detroit got lost upon the way
Circlin' the stadium like a satellite astray
Couldn't find the car park for the debut that he craved
Just drivin' round in circles, like the lives that we saved
[Chorus]
Oh, it's a carnival of shadows on the evenin' news
With the trivial and tragic all tangled in the blues
We're chokin' on the canola, we're washin' down the sin
And the devil's at the gearbox, tryin' to find a gear to spin
Yeah, he's tryin' to find a gear to spin
[Verse 2]
Up in Washington, the orders blow hot and cold
Five thousand troops to Poland, doin' what they're told
Then turned around and cancelled, then deployed them once again
The Pentagon dropped briefings like a tremblin' hand drops rain
They're quarantinin' fever with a policy of spite
Ignorin' all the science in the hollow morning light
The Senate voted no on a billion-dollar fund
Even stopped clocks hit the right time when the damage has been done
[Bridge]
There's blood upon the doorstep in the Fresno heat
A home-invadin' parolee walkin' down the street
And three men in a mosque yard, with prayers upon the wind
A sombre kind of silence where the ragin' should have been
Yeah, a sombre kind of silence where the ragin' should have been
[Guitar Solo]
[Verse 3]
Stephen's takin' final bows, the curtain's comin' down
There's a Pope outside the theatre in the middle of the town
And the U.S. Team is nervous for the World Cup on the grass
Alexi says to cry him a river if the pressure comes to pass
He says if you can't stand the kitchen, get the hell out of the heat
Maybe go and help that rookie find a parkin' on the street
While the organ plays a requiem for everything we knew
And the feedback hums a hymnal for the chosen few
[Chorus]
Oh, it's a carnival of shadows on the evenin' news
With the trivial and tragic all tangled in the blues
We're chokin' on the canola, we're washin' down the sin
And the devil's at the gearbox, tryin' to find a gear to spin
Yeah, he's tryin' to find a gear to spin
[Outro]
Tryin' to find a gear to spin
Just a gear to spin
Round and round we go
[Brass Section Fade]