Из альбома: With Windmills Turning Wrong Directions
It comes as no surprise to know you're all about style
There's nothing true in your words
walking around like a tortured soul a lonely artist who cannot find a way
Hold on to this one shot, this is the last chance of your life
Any length to which you won't go to make yourself? Please yourself, it's not for me
'Cause I will not obey
This music biz charade
I will not obey
Shoot 'em down they just keep coming
So it seems the story goes a team of writers can express your thoughts
And your life
Words become unnecessary secondary to photographs and videos
And just when we thought it was safe we were subjected to yet more
Of your stereod whinings, fame seeking pinings injected into us through our radio
So come hear me play
These songs I wrote it's so sad
That they're words you cannot say