Music.
It's within. Without.
We share it with everyone. We hide what it's about.
We protect our privacy. We let it all hang out.
We want it, oh how we want it all, it all defines us until we find the wall.
The wall! What a joke. We're all in on the farce. Just give us your music, we'll decide what is art. Just sell us your soul, we'll take it from here. Have another beer, we have plenty, my dear. You're valuable, oh yes, just keep your thumb on the pulse. Drink up and polish your gift of schmaltz.
But it's false. It's all false. It's the ******* waltz, our partner keeps face while we're falling apart, and then kicks us aside when we're behind in the race. We're falling apart, we're floating in space.
I want this to have a happy ending. If you ever hear one, its ******* worth defending. Keep me in mind. I've got music for spending. Together we've got the means for the mending.
