Nothing feels right,
|
But my fake smiles paint pictures like everything's fine.
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Sheep like what they're told,
|
So they've got spindles spinning bad songs into gold.
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And who decides what's wrong or right to like?
|
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When the puzzle pieces twist,
|
And seem like they won't fit their match,
|
I'll be waiting, I'll be waiting.
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All the "best" songs,
|
What's so "best" about 'em?
|
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I thought I was part of something more,
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But more money, less substance, more demand.
|
And I've heard great songs that no one understands.
|
You can't lay bricks on wet cement or build castles out of sand.
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But who decides?
|
|
But when the puzzle pieces twist,
|
And seem like they won't fit their match,
|
Then I will try and try again,
|
And hope that someone understands.
|
I'll be waiting, I'll be waiting.
|
|
And they can't say they love you,
|
But it still won't change a thing,
|
'cause the tides may turn tomorrow
|
And I won't be there to look.
|
|
I can say -
|
I've got to say -
|
Dollar by dollar, your soul gets smaller,
|
Trending what we fought to make ours.
|
|
They don't care about,
|
They don't care.
|
It's a good thing bad trends fade away.
|
It's so much cooler in the shade.
|
|
They don't care about,
|
They don't care.
|
We give in nightly to our addiction.
|
A self-afflicted public crucifixion.
|
|
They don't care about,
|
They don't care.
|
Dollar by dollar, your soul gets smaller,
|
Trending what we fought to make ours.
|
|
They don't care about,
|
They don't care about,
|
They don't care,
|
They never cared.
|
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-----------------
|
(POP)Ular SciencE
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| Bayside |
