It’s slowly swaying up over my head now
As I jot down the words that’ll never be sung
And wait for my headache to numb
And the wind sounds as if the world’s sighing
And the moon’s just a torn fingernail
As the TV flickers and hums by the wall And I wait for my eyesight to fade (...)
And the bright-eyed choke on ambition
And the old folks circle their graves
And the young ones are busy destroying their names
And you’re still just wasting away.
I sit and watch the screen for a message
Some kinda sign that says we’re OK
But the screen stays blank till I turn the thing off
And wait for my conscience to break..."
Insomnia, Electric President
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