It is magnificent
It is (this) party
It is (this) business
And it isn't
You set me up; I'm leveled now
And my shoes are worn and cracked from the wide, hard ground
"Put back the pieces and pull yourself together, man
We've got so much further to go"
(Son, you won't make it)
They can find him in broken spirits on a broken bed,
dreaming of lead,
in the basement of a house where dreams go to die
The grass outside my tiny window shows evidence of prying eyes,
and I still don't care how bad they want you...
"Save his soul. Sort his goals."
Kneeling by the bedside light each night
While I lie in the next room,
praying, "Please get me out of here alive."
"Oh, you're so morose...
And when you fail, I need to know."
"We lock the doors at night, for fear that we are in your sights."
Son you won't make it