The Observer

Sing your sad song everyday
Will you sing it on the say that you die?
And all the while
All around you
The sun seems now to be setting
On all that’s left of your old life
Sellers of the moon
Sellers of the sky
Centers of what you understand
Now you can’t sing everyday
Have you ever really taken a stand?
Maybe your disgraced
Maybe it’s not alright
Maybe that’s okay
Is it now?
Or is it now, now, now, oh?
Do your sad dance on display
You’ll be dancing on the day that you die
I haven’t felt, haven’t felt the kiss
Of the long slow scent of goodbye
Tattoo on the neck
Sensual refined
The crest of the sun and the moon
If you can’t dance every day
I hope that someday they’ll be dancing for you
Maybe your disgraced
Maybe it’s not alright
Maybe that’s okay
Is it now?
Now who are you to point
Your fat little fingers?
You barely know that back of your own hand
Now who are you to grasp
With frustrated fingers?
You barely know the back of your own
Barely know the back of your own hand
Hands
Hands
Hands
Hands
Hands
I only wanted to shine for you
Philosophies
And your bullshit
Listen through the years
slowly we succumb to the campaign of fear
You never know how far it goes
'Till you throw yourself right in
You were born to the light
Why not let it shine?
Philosophies
And your bullshit
I listen through the years
And slowly I succumb to the campaign of fear
You never know how far it goes
'Till you throw yourself right in
You were born from the light
Why not let it shine?
You were born from the light
So let it shine