So it seems
We've arrived in a place in time
Where the words you write
Don't mean a goddamn thing
It's embarrassing is all
When the most pedestrian
Of things to say are held in high regard
A car crash is not an art
Someday you'll see

These arts-and-crafts-type politicians
With their barrel up to the temple parading this
Hindsight's one motherfucker
How could you pour your heart and soul into this mess?
If they start throwing horns
I'm cutting off their fingers

I'm seeing stars and picking bullshit out of dialogue
I'm poking holes in stories that inflate what people really are
(Stop strangling me)
Because your world will burn, you'll see
Flip the pages 'til your fucking fingers bleed

These arts-and-crafts-type politicians
With their barrel up to the temple parading this
Hindsight's one motherfucker
How could you pour your heart and soul into this mess?
I suggest the new Bohemia can burn in hell
And all those clinging to it
Next up are the starched collars
And watch those fucking flames spread
Not predicated, I am medicated to see this through
And right through you

Your predictable vocabulary and your point of view
Will never meet my better side
I'll never welcome you

These arts-and-crafts-type politicians
With their barrel up to the temple parading this
Hindsight's one motherfucker
How could you pour your heart and soul into this mess?
If they start throwing horns I'm cutting off their fingers
If they'll hold on at all