The fix, my friends, is in

I present to you some delicious OK Go:

When we got to Boston we knew we’d missed a turn
No one back in driving school had told us there’s signs that can’t be learned
Geography is too stubborn and people are too clear
So let’s go find a roadside motel with a clerk who won’t tell

Days will turn into nights
Nights will turn into days
Weeks, seasons, and years
Let’s stay for years

Red and white, the blood cells
Red and white, the wine
They could be the whole damn spectrum if you’d all just let them
Lord, it’s such a crime

Working on an inch less waistband in this strip-mall wasteland outside of this town
Crawling at the penthouse kitchen floor for just one smidgen more
Everybody knows, everybody knows
That it’s in, the fix is in

Let’s go back to Boston, forget about the turn
Atlases and gas station attendants are none of our concern
We’ll forge a new life dear and double down our debts
And I guess it stands to reason that the passing seasons will slowly dull regrets

Working on an inch less waistband in this strip-mall wasteland outside of this town
Crawling at the penthouse kitchen floor for just one smidgen more
Everybody knows, everybody knows
That it’s in, the fix is in