I don't have an influence, I forget why I do this.
I just sit in silence, I don't listen to music.
I remember the old days when I could see your whole face.
The death of the live show is just another cold case.
We hold weight and then eventually break.
Always told to stay while we're inching away.
The bigger the artist the harder they fall.
I can give you targets or a part of my skull.
Start a moshpit or start to shoplift.
Find some burdens to bear, wear and walk with.
Talk quick, then speed it up to speak in tongues.
When the weekend comes I need someone
to relate to my music
or say that I'm stupid.
Make fists and break shit, meet pavement and bruises.
I'm a criminal and the worlds covered in fingerprints.
So cynical, but all I ever wanted was to sing to kids.
Hit or miss, swing your fists, at least we'll feel alive.
Come to think of it, my wings are clipped and I can't really fly.
Its a celebration, Hell is waiting for everybody.
They can't ever judge me, beauty's usually better ugly.
We started the set for an anonymous sea.
This is nothing like what they were promising me.
Ominously the crowd seems like its a death threat.
I don't know what it means, the dreams so disconnected.
You used to play the same stages for eight faces,
now your names famous, aim's aimless, the game changes.
Continue to binge through venues like you're big news,
then play pretend true and get the "Ends Too Soon Blues."
Blame your instincts, when the ship sinks.
Claiming you're existing when really you're just ink. x2
Puddles of it that they wanna rummage through.
Shouting out loud about what they've done to you.
Come unglued or try to hold it together.
It goes: One, two, through, should've molded it better.
Pulled the lever, hit rock bottom from a platform,
fell through a trapdoor and couldn't afford the encore.
When the ship sinks, swallow all the mixed drinks,
try to grow thin wings and follow your instincts.
Then sing, like that could ever save your soul.
As if preaching enlightenment was every savior's goal.
Made of holes so deep that they're bottomless.
But the problem is we're buying your coffin lids.
Die crying, like you've discovered something big,
and didn't get to tell the others what they're up against.
Nothing you could say, can ever raise a sunken ship.