| Time killed the rebel that could not change with time
|
| And fashion placed a flower at the image in our mind
|
| Of the switchblade saint surrounded
|
| carving out his prose
|
| And mumbling what he knows
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| SiddHartha’s of Suburbia
|
| Stop wasting your words
|
| convincing yourself that no one hurts
|
| And dance away your death
|
| and don’t be alarmed there’s nothing left
|
| It’s all right
|
| The archetype of rock-n-roll is dying in his bed
|
| While the debutantes deny it and set their clocks ahead
|
| Cause every night is New Years and everyday is dull
|
| Long live rock-n-roll
|
| SiddHartha’s of Suburbia
|
| Stop wasting your words
|
| convincing yourself that no one hurts
|
| And dance away your death
|
| and don’t be alarmed there’s nothing left
|
| It’s all right
|
| BRIDGE: They used to say the world was flat
|
| if you went too far you’d fall
|
| Just beyond the cul-de-sac,
|
| the houses and the mall it’s beautiful
|
| The future is a stereo that eats your favorite tapes
|
| The soundtrack to your youth that cannot be replaced
|
| So hold on to every song before they disappear
|
| Your future almost here
|
| SiddHartha’s of Suburbia
|
| Stop wasting your words
|
| convincing yourself that no one hurts
|
| And dance away your death
|
| and don’t be alarmed there’s nothing left
|
| It’s all right
|
| Just hold on tight,
|
| Just hold on tight |