sunsets fade to night
and flowers die away,
the world is turning round
and you are turning gray.
money burns a hole inside the wealthy's heads.
why do you insist pretending you're not dead?

Chorus:
sell your soul, sell your soul for
sell your soul, sell you soul for free.

bottles always empty,
leaves their prey alone.
lovers often leave you
waiting by the phone.
nothing seems to satisfy the need for peace.
jesus stands before you wanting you to see.

©1997 Up In The Mix Music/Nothingsimple Music, Inc.