There is a temperate zone in the mind, between luxurious indolence and exacting work; and it is to this region, just between laziness and labor, that summer reading belongs.

Henry Ward Beecher

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Lost in America
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Ca sĩ: Mr. Big
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Silent voices close their minds and hide
Behind their secret gardens
Welcome to the age of rage
And everybody's high on something Run, see Jack run
With all the little piggies in a row
They come, They go
Does anyone five a damn
Who I am or where I'm going
I an your favorite some come undone
Lost in America
Suck your poison, throw your rhymes
And wait for something bad to happen
Stand behind your middle finger
Cool to kill is still in fashion
Run, see Jack run
With all the little piggies in a row
They come, they go
Does anyone give a damn
Who I am or where I 'm going
I am your favorite son come undone
Lost in America
Here in the wasteland
No one's as sane as everyone else
And there'll be hell to pay one fine day