Guns.Guns...Guns

Where have all the people gone 
  Whose lives are no longer of use to them 
  But this system bites habit forming 
  But this single file is so contagious 
  But black eyes breed gossip 
  Like these perverse and perversions alike 

  Hibernate while you're still young 
  But you are getting older 
  So much older 
  So much older than you think 

  Crank the tap. 
  Itch. 
  Brimming with suspicions 
  The burrows are brimming with suspicions 

  Where have all the people gone 
  Whose guns are gold cold son of a bitch 
  He's says, "I'll travel anywhere I like 
  I'll travel anywhere I please." 

  The priest's on the boat 
  And hell is on it's way