The poly eccentric soloist backed by money grabbing fools
In uniforms of once dated fad like gimmicks
Gothic pop for the preteen'd anti-everything league
That wants to be liked deep down through its plastic rebellion
Sing along if you know the words, it was the plan from the start
It was a rehearsal, not real life, a practiced belief
In the end it doesn't even matter, it never really did
So sing your songs, premeditated anthems
Art is all colours, even the ones we hate
Entertain your illusions and entertain the disillusioned
Give the atheists something to worship
Either way it will die within time
A time I wish was sooner than now
A time I will wait on for until I can touch its physical dimensions
Until my fingers feel the forgotten thoughts
Of a band I want to forget
If Max says they're shit
I'll think they're shit
If Marc thinks they're shit
I'll say they're shit
If Chris knows they're shit
I'll agree they're shit
If Ian called them shit
I'll know they're shit