I met Frank on a train to New York
With a girl called Celine who brought all the sparks
They left Toronto with a pocket full of change
To throw their careers to the lions in the cage

Oh but Frank felt like the 'waiter Frank' 
When he saw me with my arm around Celine
When push came to shove
I think that she fell in love with me

But he never 'acted' oh so well

Singers grab your songs with your dirty little hands
Righting them wrongs in your radio bands
Making young women into much older girls
Wouldn't dress down for all the coke in the world

I'm safe cuz I'm sleeping next to trophy girls, excess and flare
Not the last guy that was me
But the one before him died here in a bar fight

I'm starting to feel like them soldiers dead in the sand

The 'have-not's' and 'what for's?'
Are talking about the politics of wars
But everybody knows
That they don't want to hear about them no more

Honey I don't want to think about it, write about it, talk about it
Pictures showing death and carnage, celebrity buzz

The cops in Colombia will make all sorts of noise
Sex tourists down arguing over the price
They got beat down and robbed and their passports are long gone
Stuck trekking out in the thick jungle fog

Still I'd rather be them, then the pigs that you'd meet on a film set
Stuffing their faces with the finest of cakes and cigarettes

I'm starting to feel like them soldiers dead in the sand