This song goes out
to all the hopeless sinners,
with grave allegiances,
so meaningless and vain,
the walking wounded in a pageant of contenders,
who balance on a rail of pain for just a pail of rain.
And everything is barely missed, blood relations and bricks
my expression, my confession, add it up, extract a lesson, more than this,
once again, like a bullet as a friend, tell me: can that be all there is?
In my rectory of doubt, I kneel to pray like one devout,
as time the great gray dreamless sleep of a useless modern god
erodes away each sorry day as wretched adams, one hell to pay--
content upon a rail of pain for just a little rain.
And everything is dearly missed, blood relations and bricks my expression, my confession, add it up, extract a lesson, more than this,
once again, like a bullet as a friend, tell me: can that be all there is?
There’s an endless disposition,
and it doesn’t mean a goddamn thing—
there’s space for a paper-airplane race in the eye of a hurricane.
And if pigs could fly, then surely so could I,
but this pedestrian knows better than to even try,
my divinity is caught between the colors of a butterfly.
And everything is dearly missed, blood relations and bricks
my expression, my confession, add it up, extract a lesson and more than this,
once again, like a bullet as a friend, tell me: can that be all there is?
All there is?
compositores: BRETT W. GUREWITZ, GREG GRAFFIN
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