Come on in, sweetie-pie! Have an apple, have some lye...
|
Leave your friends, righteous and pathetic, standing at the door.
|
On the books, all your bets favor head-bands and cassettes,
|
cigarettes, suffragettes, and bores.
|
|
What to do?
|
Sweetheart, you'll find mediocre people do exceptional things all
|
the time.
|
Oh, the ruin will do in your talented mind...
|
could've been a genius if you'd had an axe to grind.
|
|
When we moved to the city, it seemed the competition got so much
|
less pretty
|
but the mirror's never failed you like this before.
|
So your revenge on the world will be pencils through your curls
|
and if wanting ever taught you anything, it's wanting more.
|
(and more and more and more...)
|
|
What to do?
|
Sweetheart, you'll find mediocre people do exceptional things all
|
the time.
|
Oh, the ruin will do in your talented mind...
|
could've been a genius if you'd had an axe to grind.
|
What to do?
|
|
When that day finally nears, you'll at least have made it clear
|
that compassion's just a nicer way of looking down your nose.
|
It seems that all the people want to do is crowd the streets of
|
Amsterdam (Pamplona, too),
|
but the bulls have already come and gone and bellowed all their
|
lows.
|
Now nobody knows
|
|
what to do.
|
Sweetheart, you'll find mediocre people do exceptional things all
|
the time.
|
Oh, the ruin will do in your talented mind...
|
Could've been a genius if you'd had an axe to grind.
|
What to do?
|
|
-----------------
|
What To Do
|
OK Go |