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I got in the car |
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And turned the volume to ten |
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I tried to scream along |
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The words to something big |
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But my lungs couldn't handle it |
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My chest was strained |
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And my face was red |
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But the albums make it sound so easy |
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Put your mouth to microphone |
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And the pressure gets released |
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But it never sounds the same |
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When you're the one who's screaming |
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Between the world and my brain |
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This voice supports everything I think on its back |
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And its little spine is bending |
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I've listened all my life and you haven't told me anything |
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Where's the embarrassment? |
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Where's the banality? |
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I wanna hold the moments that you flush from your memory |
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One day I'll make songs |
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Songs'll make it permenant |
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In four-minute forms |
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The whole world might learn from this |
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And then all the hours of paralysis, imprisonment |
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It might be worth it, might be worth it, might be... |
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My head is spinning |
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But very, very slowly |
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And I hope one day my singing |
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Might contain or control it |
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There's a temporary sanity |
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In this anorexic vanity business |
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Satisfaction can't exist |
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I love work, I love success |
