It's a planet of arsonists, cheap quarter artists
Where you hardly remember names
Where the heroes you once had are scarred and destroyed
By the hollering mob of little boys
In the face of it all they say give me a man
Who'll burn way better than me
And I'll watch him descend on the needles, the models
And I'll watch him go down for free
Yeah I'll watch him drown for me
How the chords the howls the whispers
That we built when we were kings
End up washed upon the portals
Of their aching personal skin
I am not your next of kin
And yes I care
And so what were the chances, a battle of mice
And the death of rock and roll
And we're all coming down
Naked and stoned, bowing to those
Who now rule the kingdom by self decree
Cause the motion is theirs, even we
Must be serving the mass, with an absence of class
And a graceless mp3
The only songs they love are free
How the chords the howls the whispers
That we built when we were kings
End up washed upon the portals
Of their aching personal skin
I am not your next of kin
And yes I care
Yes I care
In your rgb e-world
And yes I care
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