You put the sick in sycophant
You let the crowd decide your stance
You put the sick in sycophant


You wouldn't clap your hands
For fear of reprimand


Collected in a pool of fragments
You're part of a scene

A scene that's stagnant
Rejected from the other fragments
Your little scene is stagnant


You wouldn't clap your hands
For fear of reprimand

You wouldn't learn that brand-new dance
You wouldn't take a chance


They're forming a line
They're just wasting time
And if you're selling

Then I'm buying
If you're selling


You're digging a hole
And the marker reads "Rock n' Roll"
Watch it rot


Would-be damaged reprobates
Ad hoc rumpled fashion plates

Just let the 'net decide your fate
Becoming what you hate


You wouldn't clap your hands
For fear of reprimand


The gig of the week
It never fails
They follow like sheep

You play the blues
I got the blues


You're digging a hole
And the grave reads "Rock n' Roll"
Ashes to ashes


You don't know what to do at the end
Just do what you feel