I’m just a lonesome narcissistic salesman
Wandering this country. hawking my wares
Selling my useless medicines. miracle cures
And the purple pills to get everything right
Wherever I travel I attract needy crowds
Loving good news no matter how absurd
But now I seem to be running out of road
Dear Daddy, please help your simple son
Such a close call, near the end of the line
My helpless weak and sinful sales son
Don’t dare try your own miracle cures
You’re worse off than the needy crowds
I’m all out of the untraceable solutions
I see that you have now run out of road
So long, sappy, this is the end of the line