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