| That the scene deemed unworthy of letting out
|
| Banded together to form a makeshift militia
|
| And burrowed bloodily through my tongue and my teeth
|
| And I stood proud in the gallery
|
| With my open socket of a mouth for them to see
|
| They all just laughed and said «That boy, he
|
| That boy’s got woe, whoa
|
| He lives with woe, whoa»
|
| And this girl who I met
|
| Whose pride makes her hard to forget
|
| She took pity on me horizontally
|
| But most likely because of my band
|
| And that’s all I can get when I’m lonely
|
| And these visions of death seem to own me
|
| In the quiet of the classrooms
|
| All across the stacked United States of Woe, whoa
|
| We live with woe, oh, oh, oh, oh
|
| She said
|
| «I can’t get laid in this town
|
| Without these pointy fucking shoes
|
| My feet are so black and blue
|
| And so are you»
|
| Please take me
|
| Out of my body up through the palm trees
|
| To smell California in sweet hypocrisy
|
| Floating, my senses surround my body
|
| I wake my nose to smell that ocean burn
|
| Hah. |
| Hah!
|
| La da da, la da da, la da da, da da da
|
| La da da, la da da, la da da, da da da
|
| La da da, la da da, la da da, da da da
|
| La da da, la da da, la da da…
|
| So now I’m forging ahead
|
| Passed all the plutocrats who sold me out
|
| Go sob in your bed
|
| If life is twice as pretty once you’re dead
|
| Then send me a card
|
| I’m still the optimist
|
| Though it is hard
|
| When all you want to be is in a dream
|
| A dream
|
| La da da, la da da, la da da, da da da
|
| La da da, la da da, la da da, da da |