Here is a word for the people
with the power to choose
A breed of modern muse
for all tomorrow's news
Mr. Baudelaire, Mr. Leatherchair
Mr. Pull -Your -Hair -Out
-And -Act -A -Fool
Call me bitter so I drink my milk
And do it all for you
It was never about being
colder from doubt
This is personal now,
not a sky but a cloud
I'm focused on you
Don't you fuck me about
And I'm so sorry for the language
that I used just now
See, I forgot myself somehow
Oh no, what about the radio?
Can we edit it out?
It's just me, it's just me,
it's just me until it's you
And then it's not a bad load,
but it's all my dreams come true
Pity they were nightmares
of market shares
and poor liquidity
Ratios in tune with E,
B, G, D, A and E
Growth dropping to a D
if it rings out with a buzz me
the critic no cat would love
here we summed it up
there's your baudelaire
you own every ligament on my bone
you make me walk in a line
don't cough out loud
until my voice is choking
i can't talk at first for days
and then for months
oh no what about the pretty show you know
I feel I'm falling down
I break and then we feel it change
I take a job on minimum wage
I teach myself how to administrate
I teach myself to love and not to hate
And then I see a borderline
Recovery in the corner of my eyes
His beauty drives me out of my mind
A pretty job without locking a valve
Won't you water the giant
Little patches on the field of hope
Outside the gate of Mr.
Baudelaire's estate
Before a hungry country goes to war
and leaves nobody to create