Street To Nowhere Dead Cliche
high straight from the kitchen
it's where we kept the knives
that could slice the tense air
from clenched fists
I was impartial to pain
but I fled home every day
starin' at the veins
through the skin on my wrists
and in the morning
when my throat burned
like cuts and scrapes
and salty dry eyes
refused to wake
the only one with cold hands up
and mother, she'd say he'll be ok
I'd be nothing but a dead cliche
a dead cliche
a dead cliche
with nothing to say
with nothign to say
with nothing to say
farewell notes are so passe
so shoot me in the gallery
we'll call it art
you can critique the blood stains
on the floor
why let my death go to waste?
if I'm dying anyway
I might as well
have something to die for
'cause I'm breathin' in dead air
I'm tugging at dead skin
I know the only road I walk
is a dead end
and the papers would agree
it's the only fame I see
'cause all the greatest artists
are insane or dead
I'd be nothing but a dead cliche
a dead cliche
a dead cliche
with nothing to say
with nothing to say
with nothing to say
farewell notes are so passe
made a heart out of tape and wire
I painted it the color of cryin' eyes
I wore it on my sleeve
for the vultures to see
you scream
you burn
you learn
you look
decay and die
I'd be nothing but a dead cliche
a dead cliche
a dead cliche
with nothing to say
but farewell notes are so
I'd be no more than a dead cliche
a dead cliche
a dead cliche
with nothing to say
with nothing to say
nothing to say
farewell notes are so
oh farewell notes are so passe
