The barons of industry put inspiration on Hitler’s tongue,
The next century crashed hard with a loud sound like a starting gun.
It’s a race for acquisition and to make more things that glow,
I got a knack for dodging bullets and flying zeros.

So I act like I am rich, try and make it my whole look,
‘Cause poor people don’t exist,
When times are good.

Mozart’s foster parents put cigarettes out in his ears,
When he got old enough to stutter he said, “I don’t listen, but I, I, I, can hear.
The eloquence of traffic, yeah, the mill pawn sad lament, it’s a requiem of moments,
I keep living through them.

But where’s the monster in the closet,
I can’t find the hangman inside his hood,
I guess people don’t exist,
When times are good.

Dr. Oppenheimer winced when he felt the broken piece of his pacemaker,
Unbuttoned his shirt on a subway platform, clutching his chest while his vision blurred.
He saw the bane of his creation, the destroyer of the world.
Yeah, truth can lead to solace, or a life long bender.

It’s like wading through a wasteland,
Where a town you loved once stood,
You just cry each time you think,
Of when times were good.

Napoleon’s tailor dressed him in a giant hat and funny platform shoes,
Saying, “Anyone can be a hero; you just gotta force people to look up to you.”

So, when you’re talking on a hotline, to a suicidal soul,
Don’t let your voice sound like hot coffee,
More like a scented pillow,

And strive for understanding,
Over being understood,
Just don’t let yourself forget,
When the times get good.

When times get good.
When times get good.
When times get good.

(Times get good)