|
what if we're never all there
what if our brains are always verging on prolapse
sometimes you just need solidarity yeah
but what if yr new friends wanna make the government collapse
there's a fine fine line between just being a teen
and being part of a terrorist regime
see john wilkes booth was a racist fuck
and george atzerodt was a yellow-bellied drunk
but maybe lewis powell was out of his depth
or maybe he just had shitty luck
haven't all of us, just once or twice
been kidnapped by the union infantry
and just out of spite shacked up with the nurse
nicked some supplies and set ourselves free?
testing one two, I thought I'd just check
wouldn't you rather it was someone else's neck?
see john wilkes booth was a racist fuck
and george atzerodt was a yellow-bellied drunk
but maybe lewis powell was out of his depth
or maybe he just had shitty luck
the confederates had it all wrong
but if I was alright I'd never write songs
I plead insanity! I plead I'm fucked in the head
I swear I'm so screwed up I'd wish somebody else dead
but then again so does everybody else
but we don't act on it! we all agree that it's shit
we spend our lives staring at the ceiling, talking ourselves out of it
it's never worth the noose around yr neck
see john wilkes booth was a racist fuck
and george atzerodt was a yellow-bellied drunk
but maybe lewis powell had no excuse
even if everyone's an unlit fuse
even if everyone eventually goes off the deep end
we don't have to follow our racist, sexist, terroristic, toxic, so-called friends
|
|
welcome to another day
of looking back the other way
wearing yr frustration on yr sleeve
waking up with frère jacques
I know that I'm not going back
but despite my frustration
I can't leave
the hypocrisy that makes you sick
is the clockwork that makes yr brain tick
on and on
ring the gong
pop the cork, you're going strong
welcome to the club of lunatics
it's the irony
of living out a life
under a dictator whose relevance died with his wife
it's hard enough to bear when I've got more upon my plate
than the guy who bought all he could eat
at one low, monthly rate
the hypocrisy that makes you sick
is the clockwork that makes yr brain tick
on and on
ring the gong
pop the cork, you're going strong
welcome to the club of lunatics
it's the reason I ran out of this place
so I could wipe the fake-ass grin off of yr motherfucking face
the hypocrisy that makes you sick
is the clockwork that makes yr brain tick
on and on
ring the gong
pop the cork, you're going strong
welcome to the club of lunatics
welcome to the club of lunatics
you self-serving, antisocial dick
tho yr dad was mean, it don't give you excuse to be a prick
and yet you're off in a corner
spouting Limbaugh's rhetoric
fuck you man, you make me sick
fuck you man, you make me sick
|
|
waiting for
the paint to dry
faith ensures
you'll never really die
this canvas pulled too tight
had a feeling that this wasn't right
sentiment
will fuck you up
back on the streets
but I'm rising up
sucked marrow from the cracks
packing up the guitar, and pulling on yr anorak
but at least you're not alone
drinking water from a stone
sing a song
of an older man
he got back down to fourteen last week
but now he's forty four again
the dust from the road
and the log in your eye
slept through the flatline
and the last goodbye
you promised always grace
with a pained look on your face
waver in the presence of
the frantic sins, the oil-soaked dove
bang yr own water-damaged drum
buy yrself chrysanthemums
compratela, compratela
per poco io ve la do
the rising tide of bile
just shut up and start the show
|
|
(these lyrics are the original lyrics. I fucked up this take)
in Siena, Italia
there’s a time-honored tradition
the Palio, a horse-race held in the piazza
under the Tuscan sun
summer wind blows over dirt and over crowd
bareback riders representing their contrade
mounted wards of city wards, reaching, ever close to glory
tryin’ their hardest not to throw it all away
and the people screaming praises for their champion
contrada dell’Onda screams for me
scan the crowd, seeking your eyes in the ocean
stop, assure myself that they’ve drowned in that sea
riders on their marks, hooves pawing at the line
gun in air, the brow-sweat glistens
blank is fired, the hooves a-fire, the hearts a-beating
as I pull into position
inst. break — SPEED UP
gallop down the final stretch in heat of battle
1 in front, and 8 behind
briefly pass but start to falter, lose momentum
second horse across the line
disappointment in your face
rode my best but lost the race
parading down the street, I see the fans, then turn away
I see the pain, you hesitate but close your eyes and do the same
the same as every day
In the end, second place is worse than last
worse no matter how you tried
but worse than that was hearing how “I didn’t care” about
struggles daily fought, the horse race on the inside
you turned your back on my contrada
you turned your back on my cantata
you turned your back on my sonata
so never call again
[ONE TWO THREE]
hands shaking
trumpets blaring
test taken
crowds are yelling
they’re shouting my name...
(and isn’t that what really matters)
they’re shouting my name...
(the recognition’s all that matters)
they’re shouting my name...
(you came in last, your pride’s a fucking joke)
they’re shouting my name...
you demanded best but second best is...pretty much the same
|
