Turn the radio off. It's just commercials made by stars.
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Turn down the auto-tune and reveal those wounds
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and scars. It's all middle fingers and sex, and who's
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ego can hold the most. We just hop in a broken van and
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we head out to the coast.
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Wide-eyed and wondering how we ever got here.
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Now I'm praying for a revolution on the air.
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Am I wasting all my time? Or am I proving them all wrong? Am
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I wasting all my energy on these old songs? These people aren't
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even real. They need choreigraphers just to breathe. These people
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aren't even real, they were raised by wolves, they think of us as sheep.
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Wide-eyed, it's about time I got the hell out of here.
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But still I'm praying for a revolution on the air.
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Don't you care? There are people choking out here...it's got to stop.
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We all need fresh air. We all need fresh air. Don't you care? There
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are people being force fed bullshit out here. Out here we all need
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fresh air. We all need fresh air.
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-----------------
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On The Air
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| The Casket Lottery |
