Sad songs had their place
In the coming of age,
My songs sound the same
The sound, blase
Sad songs had their place
In the coming of age,
My songs sound the same
My songs are blase.

The answers I need, who do I ask?
Where's my fire?
Where's my immediacy?

The roof is overhead.
The walls surround my bed.
Food in the fridge.
Necessary electricity.

The ends I seek, where do I ask?
Where's my fire?
Where's my face in smoke and mirror?

Sad songs had their place
In the coming of age,
My songs sound the same
My songs are blase.

Where's my face in smoke and mirror?
Where's my face in smoke and mirror?