I see a blue-white light
Shining on your hands tonight,
And in one of those hands
You’re clutching this city by the neck,
Hanging it by a cat-gut string.
In the other hand, there’s nothing-
I guess that doesn’t really mean a thing.
Ten professional fingers,
Each one with a degree,
And to silence us you hold one up,
Bright and tall,
And they call you all,
They call you all:

Pretty little demons
Taking the world by storm,
And never giving it back.
Pretty little heathens who
Keep on swimming,
Even when the water turns black.

There’s shards of broken glass
Laying in piles of greasy trash,
And I wonder how they got there.
A push, a shove, some sonic boom?
The effects of a sea of doom,
A sea of greed,
A hundred hungry mouths to feed?
Now’s the moment, hero,
To step front and center
One more encore, one more word,
You’ll play the mother bird
That feeds her children, so
Helpless and small,
And they call you all,
They call you all:

Pretty little demons
Taking the world by storm,
And never giving it back.
Pretty little heathens who
Keep on swimming,
Even when the water turns black.

I remember when you were crying on your knees;
You told me, “I have what this city needs!”,
And I agreed, I agreed.
Now there’s a wolf howling at
Your name in neon lights-
He believes in you.
After all that struggling, you were right.
Was it only yesterday that you were a nobody?
And not just a nobody, but a nameless nobody?
No food upon a paint-spattered table,
An aging Mercedes dieing on the road,
A yellow bulb flickering in the hall…
Yes, I still recall,
But you don’t remember
Life before success at all.
And they call you all,
They call you all,
(how long will they)
Call you all:

Pretty little demons
Taking the world by storm,
And never giving it back.
Pretty little heathens who
Keep on swimming,
Even when the water turns black.