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lyrics
We’re not all tortured we can be pleasant people to talk to,
It may be 80/20 how much we blow our own trumpets how much we acknowledge you,
We were not always this way,
You’d be surprised at what Willy Wonka’s golden ticket can do for your children,
Sent through the roof in a glass elevator,
Then you gotta sit them down and tell them fairy-tails are made up, I never got the memo,
That’s why I never take things personally get to personal.
I saw a Magazine Cover
Headline read, “Samuel Deschamps’ dead,
There goes the greatest song writer that ever lived.”
I saw a magazine cover,
Witness’s said, “It happened on stage,
Big head his body collapsed under the weight.”
It’s not a curse, blow them to big and the bubbles they burst,
I am the soapy residue of something that once was stroking an ego the size of a school bus,
It’s not a crime noses get busted but people get along just fine,
And all of this so called pressure, any closer and I’d swallow the camera.
Chorus
For a minute there, perched up on my karaoke cloud
I looked down on myself and honestly I can say now that I was at my happiest,
On the conveyor belt of a 24/7 common denominator economy price,
Falling off the edge.
I saw a Magazine Cover
Headline read, “Samuel Deschamps’ dead,
There goes the greatest song writer that ever lived”,
I saw a Magazine Cover,
Witness’s said, “It happened on stage, big head his body collapsed under the weight.”
I saw a Magazine Cover
Headline said, “Samuel Deschamps’ dead there goes
God’s greatest gift to no one”
I saw a Magazine Cover, witnesses said “It was over in moments, last thing I heard he said he’d gone solo.”
Pulsing, dancefloor-oriented rock from this London group pits grimy bass against big beats for an irresistible sound. Bandcamp New & Notable Apr 1, 2017
