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? ?
On a string I was held. The way I move, can you tell?
? ?
My actions are orchestrated from above. So I swing and I sway.
? ?
Wave my hand. Kick my leg. And it is always right with the music.
"Until all that swinging starts to make you sick"
(repeat above)
For a song I was bought. Now I lie when I talk with a careful eye on the cue card.
Onto a stage, I was pushed with my sorrow well rehearsed.
So give me all your pity and your money. Now.
"We used to think that sound was something pure"
? ?
If I could act like this was my real life and not some cage where I've been
placed,
? ?
then, I could tell you the truth like I used to and not be afraid of
sounding fake.
? -
Now all that anyone is listening for are the mistakes.
In a house, by myself, I hear the ice start to melt and watch rooftops weep for the sunlight.
And I know what must change. Fuck my face. Fuck my name.
They are brief and false advertisements for a soul I don't have.
Something true I have lacked and spent my whole life trying to make up for.
But I found in a song and in the people I love. They will lift me up out of darkness.
Now my door stands open. I am inviting everyone in. We will drink.
We will laugh until the morning comes. That is what we are going to do.