cut it out
your self-inflicted pain
is getting too routine
the fans are catching on
to the self-afflicted song
so here we go again: the anabashed weak
fall in love to fail
to boost your cd sales
and that cd sells
yeah what a hit
you've got to repeat it
you gotta sink to swim
first you don't, you don't succeed
you gotta recreate your misery
you all know art is hard
yeah, the artists have gotta starve
try and fail and try again
the comforts of repetition
keep churning out those hits
till it's all the same old shit
oh, a second verse
well, color me fatigued
i'm hiding in the leaves of the cd jacket sleeves
tired of entertaining some double-deaf meaning
a soft served analogy
those drunken, angry slurs
yeah, thirty one letters
gotta sink, gotta sink, gotta sink to swim
emerse yourself in rejection
regurgitate some sorry tale
about a boy who sells his love affairs
gotta fake fake fake the pain
gotta make make make the scene
gotta break break break a leg when you get on stage
and they scream your name:
oh kasher, he's so cool
gotta sink gotta sink gotta sink to swim
the person the grave to exist
cuz we all know art is hard
and we don't know who we are