Well, you've won – I'll do it your way. I'll play anything that you say, use the templates that you design.

   I'm recording this at home, alone; lonesome as a metronome. But I'm not sad, I'm fine.

 

   Just disappointed in the world for being colder than what I was told when I was eight years old. Just disappointed in this world; for counting formulas that sold; for making pyrite seem like gold.

 

   I don't need to play with other people: I'm a one-man band that plays for four brick walls. These drums are digital, this obese bass has got no soul; but I've got total control. Isn't it wonderful? Isn't it rock 'n roll?

[ not at all. ]

 

   I'm disappointed by a world that lets you load a magic code that straightens out your maverick notes. Just disappointed with this world, it's way more cold than what I've heard. So take my cards, 'cause I fold. I'm out.

 

   You know, on second thought, maybe I ought to be just disappointed in myself, for blaming everything else.

   Just disappointed – that's all. I'm disappointed, is all. Just disappointed.

 

   And still, I won't let Mind overcome Soul, won't allow fast results to devour vast potential. Won't let Mind overcome Soul, won't allow fast results to devour vast potential. Won't let Sound overthrow Song. Perfectly safe makes me perfectly numb. Won't let Sound overthrow Song. Perfectly safe makes me perfectly numb.

 

   Perfectly safe makes me perfectly numb.

   Playing it safe ain't like playing for fun.

 

[ This is the worst song I ever wrote.

  There's no doubt: it's a unanimous vote.

  So repetitive you already know it.

  If it sells, it'll prove my bloody point.

  If it doesn't then it wasn't meant to be:

  I'll just sit at home and sip insipid tea.

  I'll just sit at home and sip insipid tea. ]

Why should you trust in me?— I'm a fool lost at sea.

 

Why should you harvest me?— I've no fruit you can see.

 

Why would you bet on me when the odds guarantee that a leaf as odd as me won't hang on, for long, to the tree?

 

All you could get from is the spark of a dream. Only way to achieve that is for you to believe – only way to receive what I'm trying to give.

 

If you're still listening, here's a spark from my dream.

I’m calm, but the sweat fills up my palms; I run in a circle till I’m spun – you ask, “Why do you even bother, brother?” I swim, but the Algae has got my legs; I dream, then, I wake up in my bed – you ask, “Do you even wonder why you try?”

 

   We did not come here by choice – some would say, Destiny – yet, we each have our own voice: might as well set it free.

 

   I smile, then I tumble down the stairs – my trial can be held after I’m dead, if you still believe that it’s a crime to climb. I peek through the peephole of this world and seek anything that I can hold; anything that makes me feel real.

 

   We did not come here by choice – some would say, Destiny – yet, we each have our own voice: might as well set it free. We all get to pick our course, one we tread naturally.
   Past the rough verse, there’s a chorus winking at you and me.

 

   I’m calm. You’ll fret. I’ll run. You’ll sweat. I’ll swim. You’ll sink. I’ll dream. In your sleep.
   I’m calm... You’ll fret. I’ll run. You’ll sweat... I’ll swim! Sink. I’ll dream! In your sleep!
   Calm. Fret. Run. Sweat. Swim. Sink. Dream. Sleep. Smile! Cry. Climb! Fall! Seek! Blind! Feel. Fear.

 

   We did not come here by choice; some would say, Destiny. Yeah, we each have our own voice – might as well set it free! We all get to pick our course, one we tread naturally.
   Past the rough verse, there’s a chorus winking at you and me.

Day’s a daze and night’s a fright – my shadow tries to drag me out: I stifle Reason, stifle Doubt. When everybody’s having fun, I like to sulk, I like to frown – but that’s inside, where they can’t see.

 

   You step on heads, some wind up dead – why should you care when you’re ahead? God bless your soul (He loves us all, right?)
   One for one and all for one: he stuffs his mouth, we shine his crown. Don’t you just love the smell of fresh hypocrisy?

 

   Shut me down – shut me down and make me happy. Turn me off – turn me off and make me lovely. I am lonely.

 

   When I go up, I feel let down; when I recline, I start to drown: I think my world is more oval than round.
   The more they give, the more you take; when souls decay, just look away: unspoken morals of the wise man, nowadays.

 

   Shut me down – shut me down and make me happy. Turn me off – turn me off and make me lovely. I am lonely.

 

   “Shhhhhh. Now, all the girls and all the guys, please sit down and raise your wines, for I would like to make a toast.

   Ahem. When I first met my dear—”
   Errrrrrrr. And bli-di-bli and bloody blah!

   I have an app that shows my feelings better than me.

    

   Shut me down – shut me down and make me happy. Turn me off – turn me off and make me lovely. I am lonely. This is phoney.

 

   Shave the sheriff.

Distance, age and bumper-stickers of name-tagged faiths in foreign tongues: coloured lines that mean to sever what is one. An ace of spades, a four-leaf clover; an apple lands in someone’s palm – but maybe yours requires squinting from below? Climb a tree, and grab it just before it falls.

 

   Selene, I will get to you; I will leave all I know behind just to be alone with you, just to kiss your neck, to brush the hair out of your eyes – Selene.

 

   Marry into social standards, and wear more clothes to hide the solitude: no. Take my hand, and let them strip us down to earth: rebirth.
   How will you notice when I’m hurting and tell me it’ll be alright? Lost in translation loses meaning when there’s love: a language spoken by those who dare look inside.

 

   Selene, I will get to you; I will leave all I know behind just to be alone with you, just to kiss your neck, to brush the hair out of your eyes. Selene, life will start anew! We will write our names in the sand, and talk, and love, and lie in each other’s arms all through the night – Selene.

 

   Selene.

Karman was late for supper – again. He had been working overtime ever since Mr Nice had promised him a raise that, he believed, would make everything right. The next morning, there was a knock on his office-door.
   “Karman, we need to talk,” said Mr Nice.
   “Is everything okay, sir?”
   “As you know, a year ago, my wife... She—”
   “Still devastated, sir. And such a moving ceremony—”
   “I’m getting married.”
   “You’re what? I mean, congratulations, sir! Let me call Just; she’ll be thrilled—”
   “Karman.”
   “Sir?”
   “The company can no longer employ you.”
   Karman felt the engagement-ring box in his pocket, and said “There never was any raise, was there?”

 

   All the way home Karman clung to the box in his pocket. I’ve still got Just, he told himself before opening the front door.
   “Honey, I’m—”
   Just was sitting on the living-room chair with a suitcase on either side of her.
   “...home.”
   Before he could say anything else, she fired: “Karman, I’m leaving you.”

   

   He woke up with a throbbing headache and blurred vision; but he could sense her.
   “Oh, Just, I’m so glad you’re here! I had the weirdest dream...”
   It was only then that he saw what he couldn’t before.
   “Mr Nice? What are you doing here?”
   “We just wanted to see you were okay after passing out on the floor,” clarified Just.
   “Passing out? Wait, whose ‘We’?”
   The words Take care, Karman echoed in the hospital room as the shadow of Just Nice faded away.

A memory is all that is left of me now – a memory trapped in a melody. All that I’ve done – melted down by the sun. All that I could have done shall remain unsung.

 

A memory is all that is left of me now – a memory trapped in a melody. All that I’ve done – melted down by the sun. All that I could have done shall remain unsung.

 

All that I could have done shall remain unsung.

Well, you've won – I'll do it your way. I'll play anything that you say, use the templates that you design.

   I'm recording this at home, alone; lonesome as a metronome. But I'm not sad, I'm fine.

 

   Just disappointed in the world for being colder than what I was told when I was eight years old. Just disappointed in this world; for counting formulas that sold; for making pyrite seem like gold.

 

   I don't need to play with other people: I'm a one-man band that plays for four brick walls. These drums are digital, this obese bass has got no soul; but I've got total control. Isn't it wonderful? Isn't it rock 'n roll?

[ not at all. ]

 

   I'm disappointed by a world that lets you load a magic code that straightens out your maverick notes. Just disappointed with this world, it's way more cold than what I've heard. So take my cards, 'cause I fold. I'm out.

 

   You know, on second thought, maybe I ought to be just disappointed in myself, for blaming everything else.

   Just disappointed – that's all. I'm disappointed, is all. Just disappointed.

 

   And still, I won't let Mind overcome Soul, won't allow fast results to devour vast potential. Won't let Mind overcome Soul, won't allow fast results to devour vast potential. Won't let Sound overthrow Song. Perfectly safe makes me perfectly numb. Won't let Sound overthrow Song. Perfectly safe makes me perfectly numb.

 

   Perfectly safe makes me perfectly numb.

   Playing it safe ain't like playing for fun.

 

[ This is the worst song I ever wrote.

  There's no doubt: it's a unanimous vote.

  So repetitive you already know it.

  If it sells, it'll prove my bloody point.

  If it doesn't then it wasn't meant to be:

  I'll just sit at home and sip insipid tea.

  I'll just sit at home and sip insipid tea. ]

Why should you trust in me?— I'm a fool lost at sea.

 

Why should you harvest me?— I've no fruit you can see.

 

Why would you bet on me when the odds guarantee that a leaf as odd as me won't hang on, for long, to the tree?

 

All you could get from is the spark of a dream. Only way to achieve that is for you to believe – only way to receive what I'm trying to give.

 

If you're still listening, here's a spark from my dream.

I’m calm, but the sweat fills up my palms; I run in a circle till I’m spun – you ask, “Why do you even bother, brother?” I swim, but the Algae has got my legs; I dream, then, I wake up in my bed – you ask, “Do you even wonder why you try?”

 

   We did not come here by choice – some would say, Destiny – yet, we each have our own voice: might as well set it free.

 

   I smile, then I tumble down the stairs – my trial can be held after I’m dead, if you still believe that it’s a crime to climb. I peek through the peephole of this world and seek anything that I can hold; anything that makes me feel real.

 

   We did not come here by choice – some would say, Destiny – yet, we each have our own voice: might as well set it free. We all get to pick our course, one we tread naturally.
   Past the rough verse, there’s a chorus winking at you and me.

 

   I’m calm. You’ll fret. I’ll run. You’ll sweat. I’ll swim. You’ll sink. I’ll dream. In your sleep.
   I’m calm... You’ll fret. I’ll run. You’ll sweat... I’ll swim! Sink. I’ll dream! In your sleep!
   Calm. Fret. Run. Sweat. Swim. Sink. Dream. Sleep. Smile! Cry. Climb! Fall! Seek! Blind! Feel. Fear.

 

   We did not come here by choice; some would say, Destiny. Yeah, we each have our own voice – might as well set it free! We all get to pick our course, one we tread naturally.
   Past the rough verse, there’s a chorus winking at you and me.

Day’s a daze and night’s a fright – my shadow tries to drag me out: I stifle Reason, stifle Doubt. When everybody’s having fun, I like to sulk, I like to frown – but that’s inside, where they can’t see.

 

   You step on heads, some wind up dead – why should you care when you’re ahead? God bless your soul (He loves us all, right?)
   One for one and all for one: he stuffs his mouth, we shine his crown. Don’t you just love the smell of fresh hypocrisy?

 

   Shut me down – shut me down and make me happy. Turn me off – turn me off and make me lovely. I am lonely.

 

   When I go up, I feel let down; when I recline, I start to drown: I think my world is more oval than round.
   The more they give, the more you take; when souls decay, just look away: unspoken morals of the wise man, nowadays.

 

   Shut me down – shut me down and make me happy. Turn me off – turn me off and make me lovely. I am lonely.

 

   “Shhhhhh. Now, all the girls and all the guys, please sit down and raise your wines, for I would like to make a toast.

   Ahem. When I first met my dear—”
   Errrrrrrr. And bli-di-bli and bloody blah!

   I have an app that shows my feelings better than me.

    

   Shut me down – shut me down and make me happy. Turn me off – turn me off and make me lovely. I am lonely. This is phoney.

 

   Shave the sheriff.

Distance, age and bumper-stickers of name-tagged faiths in foreign tongues: coloured lines that mean to sever what is one. An ace of spades, a four-leaf clover; an apple lands in someone’s palm – but maybe yours requires squinting from below? Climb a tree, and grab it just before it falls.

 

   Selene, I will get to you; I will leave all I know behind just to be alone with you, just to kiss your neck, to brush the hair out of your eyes – Selene.

 

   Marry into social standards, and wear more clothes to hide the solitude: no. Take my hand, and let them strip us down to earth: rebirth.
   How will you notice when I’m hurting and tell me it’ll be alright? Lost in translation loses meaning when there’s love: a language spoken by those who dare look inside.

 

   Selene, I will get to you; I will leave all I know behind just to be alone with you, just to kiss your neck, to brush the hair out of your eyes. Selene, life will start anew! We will write our names in the sand, and talk, and love, and lie in each other’s arms all through the night – Selene.

 

   Selene.

Karman was late for supper – again. He had been working overtime ever since Mr Nice had promised him a raise that, he believed, would make everything right. The next morning, there was a knock on his office-door.
   “Karman, we need to talk,” said Mr Nice.
   “Is everything okay, sir?”
   “As you know, a year ago, my wife... She—”
   “Still devastated, sir. And such a moving ceremony—”
   “I’m getting married.”
   “You’re what? I mean, congratulations, sir! Let me call Just; she’ll be thrilled—”
   “Karman.”
   “Sir?”
   “The company can no longer employ you.”
   Karman felt the engagement-ring box in his pocket, and said “There never was any raise, was there?”

 

   All the way home Karman clung to the box in his pocket. I’ve still got Just, he told himself before opening the front door.
   “Honey, I’m—”
   Just was sitting on the living-room chair with a suitcase on either side of her.
   “...home.”
   Before he could say anything else, she fired: “Karman, I’m leaving you.”

   

   He woke up with a throbbing headache and blurred vision; but he could sense her.
   “Oh, Just, I’m so glad you’re here! I had the weirdest dream...”
   It was only then that he saw what he couldn’t before.
   “Mr Nice? What are you doing here?”
   “We just wanted to see you were okay after passing out on the floor,” clarified Just.
   “Passing out? Wait, whose ‘We’?”
   The words Take care, Karman echoed in the hospital room as the shadow of Just Nice faded away.

A memory is all that is left of me now – a memory trapped in a melody. All that I’ve done – melted down by the sun. All that I could have done shall remain unsung.

 

A memory is all that is left of me now – a memory trapped in a melody. All that I’ve done – melted down by the sun. All that I could have done shall remain unsung.

 

All that I could have done shall remain unsung.

Well, you've won – I'll do it your way. I'll play anything that you say, use the templates that you design.

   I'm recording this at home, alone; lonesome as a metronome. But I'm not sad, I'm fine.

 

   Just disappointed in the world for being colder than what I was told when I was eight years old. Just disappointed in this world; for counting formulas that sold; for making pyrite seem like gold.

 

   I don't need to play with other people: I'm a one-man band that plays for four brick walls. These drums are digital, this obese bass has got no soul; but I've got total control. Isn't it wonderful? Isn't it rock 'n roll?

[ not at all. ]

 

   I'm disappointed by a world that lets you load a magic code that straightens out your maverick notes. Just disappointed with this world, it's way more cold than what I've heard. So take my cards, 'cause I fold. I'm out.

 

   You know, on second thought, maybe I ought to be just disappointed in myself, for blaming everything else.

   Just disappointed – that's all. I'm disappointed, is all. Just disappointed.

 

   And still, I won't let Mind overcome Soul, won't allow fast results to devour vast potential. Won't let Mind overcome Soul, won't allow fast results to devour vast potential. Won't let Sound overthrow Song. Perfectly safe makes me perfectly numb. Won't let Sound overthrow Song. Perfectly safe makes me perfectly numb.

 

   Perfectly safe makes me perfectly numb.

   Playing it safe ain't like playing for fun.

 

[ This is the worst song I ever wrote.

  There's no doubt: it's a unanimous vote.

  So repetitive you already know it.

  If it sells, it'll prove my bloody point.

  If it doesn't then it wasn't meant to be:

  I'll just sit at home and sip insipid tea.

  I'll just sit at home and sip insipid tea. ]

Why should you trust in me?— I'm a fool lost at sea.

 

Why should you harvest me?— I've no fruit you can see.

 

Why would you bet on me when the odds guarantee that a leaf as odd as me won't hang on, for long, to the tree?

 

All you could get from is the spark of a dream. Only way to achieve that is for you to believe – only way to receive what I'm trying to give.

 

If you're still listening, here's a spark from my dream.

I’m calm, but the sweat fills up my palms; I run in a circle till I’m spun – you ask, “Why do you even bother, brother?” I swim, but the Algae has got my legs; I dream, then, I wake up in my bed – you ask, “Do you even wonder why you try?”

 

   We did not come here by choice – some would say, Destiny – yet, we each have our own voice: might as well set it free.

 

   I smile, then I tumble down the stairs – my trial can be held after I’m dead, if you still believe that it’s a crime to climb. I peek through the peephole of this world and seek anything that I can hold; anything that makes me feel real.

 

   We did not come here by choice – some would say, Destiny – yet, we each have our own voice: might as well set it free. We all get to pick our course, one we tread naturally.
   Past the rough verse, there’s a chorus winking at you and me.

 

   I’m calm. You’ll fret. I’ll run. You’ll sweat. I’ll swim. You’ll sink. I’ll dream. In your sleep.
   I’m calm... You’ll fret. I’ll run. You’ll sweat... I’ll swim! Sink. I’ll dream! In your sleep!
   Calm. Fret. Run. Sweat. Swim. Sink. Dream. Sleep. Smile! Cry. Climb! Fall! Seek! Blind! Feel. Fear.

 

   We did not come here by choice; some would say, Destiny. Yeah, we each have our own voice – might as well set it free! We all get to pick our course, one we tread naturally.
   Past the rough verse, there’s a chorus winking at you and me.

Day’s a daze and night’s a fright – my shadow tries to drag me out: I stifle Reason, stifle Doubt. When everybody’s having fun, I like to sulk, I like to frown – but that’s inside, where they can’t see.

 

   You step on heads, some wind up dead – why should you care when you’re ahead? God bless your soul (He loves us all, right?)
   One for one and all for one: he stuffs his mouth, we shine his crown. Don’t you just love the smell of fresh hypocrisy?

 

   Shut me down – shut me down and make me happy. Turn me off – turn me off and make me lovely. I am lonely.

 

   When I go up, I feel let down; when I recline, I start to drown: I think my world is more oval than round.
   The more they give, the more you take; when souls decay, just look away: unspoken morals of the wise man, nowadays.

 

   Shut me down – shut me down and make me happy. Turn me off – turn me off and make me lovely. I am lonely.

 

   “Shhhhhh. Now, all the girls and all the guys, please sit down and raise your wines, for I would like to make a toast.

   Ahem. When I first met my dear—”
   Errrrrrrr. And bli-di-bli and bloody blah!

   I have an app that shows my feelings better than me.

    

   Shut me down – shut me down and make me happy. Turn me off – turn me off and make me lovely. I am lonely. This is phoney.

 

   Shave the sheriff.

Distance, age and bumper-stickers of name-tagged faiths in foreign tongues: coloured lines that mean to sever what is one. An ace of spades, a four-leaf clover; an apple lands in someone’s palm – but maybe yours requires squinting from below? Climb a tree, and grab it just before it falls.

 

   Selene, I will get to you; I will leave all I know behind just to be alone with you, just to kiss your neck, to brush the hair out of your eyes – Selene.

 

   Marry into social standards, and wear more clothes to hide the solitude: no. Take my hand, and let them strip us down to earth: rebirth.
   How will you notice when I’m hurting and tell me it’ll be alright? Lost in translation loses meaning when there’s love: a language spoken by those who dare look inside.

 

   Selene, I will get to you; I will leave all I know behind just to be alone with you, just to kiss your neck, to brush the hair out of your eyes. Selene, life will start anew! We will write our names in the sand, and talk, and love, and lie in each other’s arms all through the night – Selene.

 

   Selene.

Karman was late for supper – again. He had been working overtime ever since Mr Nice had promised him a raise that, he believed, would make everything right. The next morning, there was a knock on his office-door.
   “Karman, we need to talk,” said Mr Nice.
   “Is everything okay, sir?”
   “As you know, a year ago, my wife... She—”
   “Still devastated, sir. And such a moving ceremony—”
   “I’m getting married.”
   “You’re what? I mean, congratulations, sir! Let me call Just; she’ll be thrilled—”
   “Karman.”
   “Sir?”
   “The company can no longer employ you.”
   Karman felt the engagement-ring box in his pocket, and said “There never was any raise, was there?”

 

   All the way home Karman clung to the box in his pocket. I’ve still got Just, he told himself before opening the front door.
   “Honey, I’m—”
   Just was sitting on the living-room chair with a suitcase on either side of her.
   “...home.”
   Before he could say anything else, she fired: “Karman, I’m leaving you.”

   

   He woke up with a throbbing headache and blurred vision; but he could sense her.
   “Oh, Just, I’m so glad you’re here! I had the weirdest dream...”
   It was only then that he saw what he couldn’t before.
   “Mr Nice? What are you doing here?”
   “We just wanted to see you were okay after passing out on the floor,” clarified Just.
   “Passing out? Wait, whose ‘We’?”
   The words Take care, Karman echoed in the hospital room as the shadow of Just Nice faded away.

A memory is all that is left of me now – a memory trapped in a melody. All that I’ve done – melted down by the sun. All that I could have done shall remain unsung.

 

A memory is all that is left of me now – a memory trapped in a melody. All that I’ve done – melted down by the sun. All that I could have done shall remain unsung.

 

All that I could have done shall remain unsung.