Street To Nowhere - Dead Clichã©

I strayed from the kitchen that's where we kept the knives

that could slice the tense air from clenched fists

I wasn't partial to pain but I fled home everyday,

staring at the veins through the skin on my wrist

And in the morning when my throat burned like cuts and scrapes

and salty dry eyes refused to wake

the only warmth were cold hands of a mother

she'd say "it'll be ok"

I'd be no more than A Dead Cliché,

A Dead Cliché

A Dead Cliché

with nothing to say

farewell notes are so passé

So shoot me in a gallery, we'll call it art

you can critique the blood stain 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 breathing in dead air, I'm tugging at dead skin

I know that every road I walk is a dead end

And the papers would agree it's the only fame I'll see

Cause all the greatest artists are insane. Or Dead.

I made a heart out of tape and wire

I painted it the color of crying eyes

I wore it on my sleeve

for the vultures to see

screamed

you're born you learn you work decay and die

















		
			



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