| There’s a voice on the phone
|
| Telling what had happened
|
| Some kind of confusion
|
| More like a disaster
|
| And it wondered how you were left unaffected
|
| But you had no knowledge
|
| No, the chemicals covered you
|
| So a jury was formed
|
| As more liquor was poured
|
| No need for conviction
|
| They’re not thirsting for justice
|
| But I slept with the lies I keep inside my head
|
| I found out I was guilty
|
| I found out I was guilty
|
| But I won’t be around for the sentencing
|
| Cause I’m leaving
|
| On the next airplane
|
| And though I know that my actions are impossible to justify
|
| They seem adequate to fill up my time
|
| But if I could talk to myself
|
| Like I was someone else
|
| Well then maybe I could take your advice
|
| And I wouldn’t act like such an asshole all the time
|
| There’s a film on the wall
|
| Makes the people look small
|
| Who are sitting beside it
|
| All consumed in the drama
|
| They must return to their lives once the hero has died
|
| They will drive to the office
|
| Stopping somewhere for coffee
|
| Where the folk singers, poets and playwrights convene
|
| Dispensing their wisdom
|
| Oh dear amateur orators
|
| They will detail their pain
|
| In some standard refrain
|
| They will recite their sadness
|
| Like it’s some kind of contest
|
| Well, if it is, I think I am winning it
|
| All beaming with confidence
|
| As I make my final lap
|
| The gold medal gleams
|
| So hang it around my neck
|
| Cause I am deserving it:
|
| The champion of idiots
|
| But a kid carries his walkman on that long bus ride to Omaha
|
| I know a girl who cries when she practices violin
|
| Cause each note sounds so pure, it just cuts into her
|
| And then the melody comes pouring out her eyes
|
| Now to me, everything else, it just sounds like a lie |