We painted rings around our eyes, so now we're paying for it
They stole your manuscript we meant to burn, though they adore it
A story you once penned then swore you'd never lose again
In lieu of fickle friends who at the ending turned to fiction
In Sunday clothes, phoning in the skit
Life is a band, you'd like to quit
Living in prose for the glam and the grit
A page in your hand, a wink in your wit
♪
I played a shaman on the roof, so now they're running for it
Until you drink an ounce of truth, what you see you'll ignore it
In Sunday clothes, phoning in the skit
Life is a band, you'd like to quit
Stuck in a verse and you can't score
Dance in a thought of wanting more
Toast to yourself, ruin a play
Until next year becomes today
Run to a dream you're waking from
A horror sings, a tempest strums
Toast to yourself, ruin a play
Until next year becomes today
Tomorrow sings you, Sonneteer, and you'll be ready for it
All of the dark you now call dear, and the good, fix what tore it
In Sunday clothes, phoning in the skit
Life is a band, you'd like to quit
Living in prose for the glam and the grit
A page in your hand, a wink in your wit
♪
Living in prose for the glam and the grit
A page in your hand, a wink in your wit