She smells of the ink that broke grounds anew
His skin, like the paper, passed from me to you
They spoke of that era, intimately gone
The children waited for their dance in the sun
Their biggest statues were products of their times
Five years of longing, and two of moonlight
They speak of a tongue under deep scrutiny
They wither to write and that simply can’t be
These Paperbound Heroes surrendered their souls
So that which they speak can never be controlled
Each one lingers about in a leaping house
Their structure of thymes, their words of coals
Do not forsake them for long
A dreamer bedridden to some old device
His mind of electricity kept out the lice
They’ll take your deep pockets and show you your heart
What “folly’, what “fool” will bring about a start?
The capes and the crosses, and their simple times
Where one could live free without begging a dime
They can’t save us from the books where they’re bound
But it is enough that these stories resound
These Paperbound Heroes sacrificed their souls
To fill what’s within, the new century’s hole
Each leaps about like a larking mouse
Their stature of crime, their works of tolls
They won’t follow for long
Where are the beat-down, the colleagues with crowns?
The always around, knowing what’s going down
The knowledge-filled lungs in the smoke-filled rooms
An idle guitar, the ideas to groom
The poets and dead-beats that you spit upon
Welded our worlds, those vast vagabonds
Vain as they are, rough as they come
The smallest of pawns are still parts of the sum
These Paperbound Heroes, they silvered their souls
In pure desperation to decry the poll
They lark about in the loneliest house
Their stolen rhymes, their worn-out goals
They are forever strong
The boy in the bed, well he wrote for a while
He was transfixed by the drawn, timeless smiles
So who’ll be the one that will get in his way?
And trivialize every word he will say
The girl with the gun chose to lay her arms down
She chose to cease with such visceral sound
I believe they’re happily married today
It is bittersweet to throw oneself away
These Paperbound Heroes are weary and sold
Their grasps so that they may simply grow old
But if you fret that they belong in their house
In due time, the kids will grow into their soles
Move forward with your song
