Lyrics

I can't listen to my self think
Keep thinking I'm on Hell's brink
Some know-it-all is tellin' me
To buy what my screen is sellin' me
But even if it's true
Even if the fear is healthy
What am I to do?

Tell me does the weather man see
A future less outstanding than that for which we hoped
The glory of the century was turned into a ghost

They killed our friends for money, bullets and supposed to propose a toast
For the good times that we had that lasted longer than they did for most
And to the folks who grossed the most, just know I'm full of smoke
As I make the saddest winner's boast

This ain't an end-of-the-world song
Or a pedestal to purch on
Nor is it my platform for me to hang my hurt on
Which side have you rehearsed?
I'll play out the reverse
I don't mind being the puritan if you practiced the curse

So don't bother cleaning up
Keep on playing in the dirt
I'll talk down to you from my jet
As I wear my fancy shirt
And it aint about what's right or who appears to know the most
From what little space and time the good lord chose to show us

'Cause when things are drying up out on the West coast
It just feels like the saddest winner's boast

I can't even hear myself think
Some metaphysical ink
Stained my soul-selected team
Hired to incept my dream
If I was elected king
I wouldn't change too many things
But I might make like old Ike and work on my golf swing
There's not a lot of laws I'd make that would mean a lot to me
But I might make a law against suicidal persons winning the lottery
So if it's just fine with you gotta go out and get mine too
But if was my choice this ain't the game that I'd choose
No what I would have chose was make all accounts to be frozen
Then we'll see who makes the saddest winner's boast