Oh, what do you know,
since thereâs nothing above, there must be something below,
but no, no donât look down,
âcos through the stories of war, flow the tears of a clown
So take those pictures off the wall,
no-one will believe you till your world starts to fall down
And oh, whatâs this I see,
while youâre thinking âbout you, Iâm busy thinking âbout me,
and oh, what was that you said,
these ainât written for you, these are the songs for the dead
Still youâre sitting there requesting for the right to cry,
donât look to me to wipe those tears from your eye
So take those pictures off the wall,
theyâre pictures of a time that donât mean nothinâ at all
And now youâre at the wheel,
theyâve uncovered your lies, now tell me how does that feel?
and oh, what was that you said,
these ainât written for you, these are the songs for the dead
So take those pictures off the wall,
your force fed icons words they donât mean nothinâ at all,
and still youâre sitting there protesting for the right to die,
well button up, bite your lip and wipe those tears from your eye