| Who hides in attics when the sun is up
|
| Everyone is at work
|
| What will I do? |
| Where will I go?
|
| Show me the way
|
| The truth, the anger, show me rules of thumb
|
| Show the way to grow old
|
| Love is a guide
|
| The endless river of the soul
|
| But we are mean
|
| The dried up riverbeds of rock and stone
|
| Lust is my friend
|
| She comes to me when I am tired
|
| Life is a road, death is a myth
|
| Love is a fraud, it’s misunderstood
|
| Work is a sentence, family’s a drag
|
| This house is a trap
|
| I’m in a play written today about a girl
|
| She gets on perfectly with young and old
|
| Everybody loves her
|
| What would she wear? |
| Cut off her hair?
|
| Wave as she slides
|
| Gracefully into the working week
|
| She hides her baggage inside
|
| She’s got a friend
|
| An ugly monster that will eat your face
|
| She has to cry
|
| A heavy catalogue of wasted time
|
| She’s got a friend
|
| A lonely monster that will prey on you
|
| Life is a secret, death is a myth
|
| Love is a fraud, it’s misunderstood
|
| Work is a sentence, family’s a drag
|
| This house is a trap
|
| Life is a secret, death is a myth
|
| Love is a fraud, it’s misunderstood
|
| Work is a sentence, family’s a drag
|
| This house is a trap
|
| I’m in a play written today about a boy
|
| Tired and melancholy, takes the weight
|
| Takes the weight of the world
|
| I walked alone, loving a song
|
| Walking the earth
|
| The worn-out sister who is twenty three
|
| Dried and wrinkled, alone
|
| I’ll give you a month
|
| To see past shadows in your sacred mind
|
| I’ll give you a week
|
| To look Medusa in the eye
|
| I’ll give you a month
|
| To notice heaven in the side of stage
|
| You’re king inside of your head
|
| You’re sitting on the throne of sand
|
| You’re pushing back the tide
|
| So lift the mountain up
|
| So tie writer’s ribbons down
|
| Assemble all your troops
|
| We go to war with metaphors
|
| You’ll suddenly see sense
|
| And when you do, I’ll have the higher ground
|
| You’re not the king of me
|
| I’ll take my chance
|
| and play for tyranny
|
| I build the sets and light the scene
|
| We’re prettier when we’re on the screen
|
| I build the sets and light the scene
|
| We’ll braver when we’re on the sacred screen
|
| The backstage of your life
|
| is filled with props and lines
|
| You should have sung
|
| The backstage of your life
|
| is filled with echoes of the ones you loved |