Trust Fund Capital Lyrics

If even David's hollowed out then god
There must be a kind of magic to the way they break you down
Tired and overrun on the weekend you caught the sun
There must be a kind of magic to the way they break you

And listening to wood pigeons as you lay
Tallying the sleeping hours left until the working day
Groveling to forget some second to last regret
Passing by the golden clock upon the golden balcony

Has it all been a long con? Capital as a real god
Bear it all as an old dog
Capital as a real god
Brighton in the bin strikes you were there
Carrying your best belongings up and down the station stairs
To meet on summer's green, oh I know the flats you mean
There must be a kind of magic to the way we stay true

Has it all been a long con?
Capital as a real God
Bear it all as an old dog
Capital as a real God