I am a channel twelve news show written for you to polish and preserve and speak the truth.
Honesty leaves a liar's lips to smoke the last bit of a cigarette's shell.
Bartered hand-me-downs sit alongside a gum-stained curb in front of my house.
Concrete fools sit on the carpet to try to fly from their youth.
Nothing we say ever said much, written behind false "I love yous."
Blasphemy-fucks and shredded paper glued to crimson hands.
Save the children but don't save yourselves if you're not worth it,
broken from the start of breaking hearts and breaking "Yes I cans."
Colored sheets and windows tight promise I won't sleep tonight.
Let the air consume a breath of destiny!
Beaten paths aligned with footprints of the relative relatives.
(It's over when we say it's over.)
But who am I to say that families in pictures
are behind the love of the American dream?
Picket fence to picket homicides committed by the bosses
of the parents who would never dare to teach us how to sing.
Saturday night, the clock strikes midnight twice.
Take another hour to start anew with the moonlight over your head.
Burn the houses down and drown inside the flames.
Cynicism is no glory but we just may be better off this way.