| Looks for autumn, looks for spring
|
| They’re gonna make you look, just like a magazine
|
| Fickle fashion, we are bought and sold
|
| By next season, she leaves you in the cold
|
| And maybe all I want
|
| is nothing you can sell
|
| In pills and magazines
|
| Turn the pages, Pour the water
|
| I can’t seem to get enough
|
| …like a broken cup
|
| Empty pockets, empty dream
|
| all the promises that spill from the glowing screen
|
| wealth and riches on little plastic cards
|
| all you ever wanted, with a low APR
|
| Maybe all I want, is nothing you can sell
|
| In pills and magazines,
|
| Turn the pages, pour the water
|
| Cause I can’t seem to get enough
|
| like a broken cup
|
| And you can ask, you can spin, or you can weave the lies right in
|
| I’ve had enough gonna wash my hands clean, of this 21st century…
|
| some light reading, stop light ahead
|
| give me something that will last longer than that
|
| story like Shakespeare
|
| was meant to stick around
|
| and sitcom romance just wears me out |