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Thousands of rats huddle beneath an overpass
And all of them refusing to move and wondering to themselves
Oh man is life really like that
When you listen closely you can hear whispering and screaming and singing and talking and whistling and piano playing and secret telling and backwards glancing and guitar strumming and silent humming and banjo picking and everyone seems to be saying I'm doing it wrong.
There must be a place inside my soul all made of songs from long ago
There must be a place inside my heart made for all those songs to fall apart
Am I doing it wrong?
Let's put an end to boredom
Let's put nostalgia to bed
We toil in obscurity
I think there's a place inside my soul where all my favorite memories go
But I think there's a place inside my heart to tear everything I love apart
And forget old romance and failed plans and gentle dreams of autumn scenes
i think there's a place inside my soul where all my favorite songs can go
But I think there's a place inside my heart to rip every single chord apart
And forget older rhymes from older times and let's move on
There must be a place inside my soul - there must a place inside my heart
I'm doing it wrong
There must be a place inside my soul - it always sings loud but lately everything comes out grey and tough
I can't hear the words but it sings of things I've always loved.
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2. |
Merchants of Youth
04:03
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Yeah we're the kids - gagging on plastic bags
With skin made of dirty rags
With eyelids hung from price tags
I sold my soul for a filthy flag
i take the image of your favorite blouse
to the back of the midtown slaughterhouse
We tore it to bits - it was covered in shit
Make no mistake I'll make a mess of it
Yeah we're the kids I replaced my heart with a credit card
Yeah we're the kids I replaced my skin with a tip jar
I want to hit, haunt, spit, snare, and I want to do it everywhere
I take the image of your favorite blouse - tonight there's a party at the slaughterhouse.We're chopping up blogs and dumping them in the streams. We'll set fire to every rock star magazine. you found your own picture in the centerfold so you fingered the crease and then wiped up the mess with the pages from your press release.
And all the kids are going lick lick taste the sweetness of the sale while your scream scream keep up the same old scene and gag gag keep sucking off the camera flash and cry yourself to night into the pages from your press release.
Can you hear one thousand kids buying back their youth?
Can you hear one thousand songs singing backwards truths?
Can you hear anything over the sea of bells and catchy hooks?
Can you hear anything over the din of ancient rule books?
I want to hit, haunt, spit, snare, and I want to do it everywhere
If you smash the guitar then I'll burn the strings. Let's hang our lives from this church door's rusty hinge.
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