"we need a pipeline from the east to feed this economic beast"

Sure I think about days gone by everybody does. I think about the nights of days gone by, I know about all that jazz. Wondering what life was passing by me. Watching the inside of my eyelids thinkin' 'bout boys and girls who hit me and left a dent. Thinkin' 'bout where I stand in August, and who I'll lay with in a few months.

And I'm not saying there's a specific meaning to all this jibberish. But the cold truth is that you can read this shit any way you want to.

You'll never drink deep enough to know your alive. Time is always meaning nothing until you die.
And what's this spirit brother? Called "The Blues"?
And what's to do?

(we've sat and watched you die a thousand times
not one of them your woman or your man by the sea
not one of them you always ran to see could ever see.)