Your Parents' Money - The Picture in Picture Ghost That Haunts Me
00
Copied!
Nothing lost but nothing gained—
We’ve delayed corpses, built some things
The subtle art—and luck—of getting by
Was just enough to keep alive
Soon erased, we’ll be replaced—
Our hopes and wishes all forgotten
We sit around, settle down ‘till we’re in the ground
Innocence is moving on—
Your head in hand against the page
There’s ink and blood—it’s mud—you feel
You’ve lost in the point in all of this
Oh, I scream at moving pictures…
Past the trim, within the bleed
Our mistakes keep us on this screen
We know it hurts—but works—to blur that line
By grabbing glass, squinting our eyes
In our yellowed biographies
Are people turned to places, things…
We’re all fading fast…
Innocence: a foreign art—
You’ve lived a life of better days
A dozen years to build yourself
Another four to drift away
To my friends forever gone:
I hope you’ve gone to find your peace
‘Cause I’d stay for another year if it meant avoiding moving on…
Oh, I scream at moving pictures
Singing “I fucked my life.”
Everybody wants to make their parents proud…
Don’t you want to make your parents proud?
Every “want” will make your parents proud
***
Oh, I scream at moving pictures
Singing “I fucked my life.”
(Innocence is moving on—
Your head in hand against the page
There is ink and blood—it’s mud—you feel
That you’ve lost in the point in all of this.)
(Innocence: a foreign art—
You’ve lived a life of better days
There’s a dozen years to build yourself
And another four to drift away.)
(To my friends forever gone:
I hope you’ve gone to find your peace
‘Cause I’d stay here for another year if it meant avoiding moving on…)
It’s the exposition and we’re burning on a slow boat
When’s the fun begin? When’s the fun begin to end?
We’ve delayed corpses, built some things
The subtle art—and luck—of getting by
Was just enough to keep alive
Soon erased, we’ll be replaced—
Our hopes and wishes all forgotten
We sit around, settle down ‘till we’re in the ground
Innocence is moving on—
Your head in hand against the page
There’s ink and blood—it’s mud—you feel
You’ve lost in the point in all of this
Oh, I scream at moving pictures…
Past the trim, within the bleed
Our mistakes keep us on this screen
We know it hurts—but works—to blur that line
By grabbing glass, squinting our eyes
In our yellowed biographies
Are people turned to places, things…
We’re all fading fast…
Innocence: a foreign art—
You’ve lived a life of better days
A dozen years to build yourself
Another four to drift away
To my friends forever gone:
I hope you’ve gone to find your peace
‘Cause I’d stay for another year if it meant avoiding moving on…
Oh, I scream at moving pictures
Singing “I fucked my life.”
Everybody wants to make their parents proud…
Don’t you want to make your parents proud?
Every “want” will make your parents proud
***
Oh, I scream at moving pictures
Singing “I fucked my life.”
(Innocence is moving on—
Your head in hand against the page
There is ink and blood—it’s mud—you feel
That you’ve lost in the point in all of this.)
(Innocence: a foreign art—
You’ve lived a life of better days
There’s a dozen years to build yourself
And another four to drift away.)
(To my friends forever gone:
I hope you’ve gone to find your peace
‘Cause I’d stay here for another year if it meant avoiding moving on…)
It’s the exposition and we’re burning on a slow boat
When’s the fun begin? When’s the fun begin to end?
