it's lonely at the top
it's even lonelier at the bottom
but yea I get it
surrounded by yes men
liars and pick pockets
fair weather friends
leaches upon leaches
so why not jump off that cliff
why not burrow yourself in a cloud of smoke
why not dive off that cliff
that cliff they build for us run aways
that cliff they build and call "success"
once your famous it's finished
you can recreate your image
but time never ceases
they all come running
like cows coming home
the corporate sheep herders
hurrying them along
laughing their way to the bank
and people sit at home
thinking it's all real.
that's what puzzles me the most
like, you know.
and I know.
but all these people...
they buy the tickets
they wait in line for autographs
they brag about some small fact they know
they hang pictures on their walls
setting the trap in their mind
that trap that tells them they're not free
that they need "success"
that they need to Be that poster on the wall
those sounds
that loud guitar
it's so silent now
they beat on it
they stroke it
they airbrush it
they study it
and emulate it
but that sound
that crushing sound
that used to scream through out the hills
a Roaring "FUCK You WORLD"
it's so quiet.
no one will ever rule the world again miss love
not like you did.
the crown has been destroyed.