The Rules - The Tragically Hip

Legs scream at bikes and bikes scream at trucks

And motorists curse their lousy luck

Crossing guard’s not doing his job

And traffic’s not about to stop for the first casualty of thought

It’s the rules

It’s the rules

Superfarmer’s bent on the cover of time

The moralists scream he’s all mine

So the bard isn’t doing her job

The vacuum night, the darkest rites, the small quarantined thoughts

It’s the rules

It’s the rules

Salesman said this vacuum’s guaranteed

It could suck an ancient virus from the sea

It could put the dog out of a job

Could make traffic stop so little thoughts can safely get across

It’s the rules

It’s the rules

Guaranteed or not

It’s the rules