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