Anchormen spike their blood
|
wear masks of mud
|
cucumbers cut to fit their eyes
|
and so no one would know how tired they've grown
|
of talking and telling their lies
|
while your TVs change stations
|
scroll messages
|
victims and christians both drinking blood
|
and they pray for the destruction of all hatred
|
more often, just those with hate for us
|
'cause it hurts when you discover one's worse and one's better
|
to suffer or cause others to
|
and you can live by your conscience
|
now guilt is a concept
|
you're no longer subscribing to
|
|
There's a virgin in my bed
|
and she's taking off her dress
|
And I'm not sure what I am gonna do
|
There's a song stuck in my head
|
and I can't help singing it
|
O' how I hope my singing pleases you
|
'cause this is not who I've become
|
but what you made me into
|
|
Oh, we got no health insurance
|
no cellular service
|
no disease they can't cure
|
but we need more money to burn
|
so each person must learn the dollar amount they are worth
|
and those pills make me dizzy
|
forgetting my body
|
I watch as it walks away
|
I just keep drinking the poison
|
and smoking the cartons
|
a pack and a half a day
|
so when time comes to claim me
|
my friends and my family will gather around my grave
|
and they'll believe that they knew me
|
and love me and miss me
|
and all call me by my name
|
|
So imagine what you want
|
and then hold on to that thought
|
'cause that's as close as it will ever come
|
and believe you're where you are
|
and keep acting out the part
|
but at the end of the day, the trees all get wheeled away
|
and you'll be standing alone in a blank, blank space
|
So believe who you are
|
and stay in character.
|
but at the end of the play,
|
the audience walks away.
|
And you'll be shivering cold on a well lit stage.
|
|
-----------------
|
The Trees Get Wheeled Away
|
| Bright Eyes |
