Fruits of Our Labors

Two tall glasses of cheap brandy
A view above the catalpa tree,
Wild eyes and empty heads
Dreams of dreaming in our beds,
These are the fruits of our labors.

A man in Cali with three huge yachts,
Puts his toy workers in a concrete box,
Local wines that nobody can afford,
Sipped only by the rich and bored,
These are the fruits of our labors?

We had love when we had time,
Some prisons require no crime,
Some passions have an end in sight
If you want to leave, you’re surely right
These are the fruits of our labors.

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