speak the truth even if it makes your voice shake
you backed up more than you could take
so most nights you try to rest your head
a droning fever gets you back
scattered in one hundred pieces that won"t match,
a delay in your back and your toes at the edge,
all engines are go, you"re the stick in the spoke
and the rumours they"re afloat
the record of your failures is written all over your face
and you can"t cover that savage grimace
no motion in your years of vice, you"re running out of alibis
speak the truth even if it makes your voice shake
these hands are nothing but a keepsake
to the prodigies that you created,
when you still know how to (...)
How you used to be, all pristine and eager,
when you were a charmer, not a sleeper.
In the days when skins didn't stretch,
and you kept your gospels on the verge.
the record of your failures is written all over your face
and you can"t cover that savage grimace
no motion in your years of vice, you"re running out of alibis
Another song just passed you by,
every single step you take seems to be improvised.
Between each interval the exact pause,
to bargain a dozen for a single cause.
In the end it's mine to choose what matters,
but I'm getting there, I'm getting better!
the record of my failures is written all over my face
and I can"t cover that savage grimace
no motion in my years of vice, I"m running out of alibis
you backed up more than you could take
so most nights you try to rest your head
a droning fever gets you back
scattered in one hundred pieces that won"t match,
a delay in your back and your toes at the edge,
all engines are go, you"re the stick in the spoke
and the rumours they"re afloat
the record of your failures is written all over your face
and you can"t cover that savage grimace
no motion in your years of vice, you"re running out of alibis
speak the truth even if it makes your voice shake
these hands are nothing but a keepsake
to the prodigies that you created,
when you still know how to (...)
How you used to be, all pristine and eager,
when you were a charmer, not a sleeper.
In the days when skins didn't stretch,
and you kept your gospels on the verge.
the record of your failures is written all over your face
and you can"t cover that savage grimace
no motion in your years of vice, you"re running out of alibis
Another song just passed you by,
every single step you take seems to be improvised.
Between each interval the exact pause,
to bargain a dozen for a single cause.
In the end it's mine to choose what matters,
but I'm getting there, I'm getting better!
the record of my failures is written all over my face
and I can"t cover that savage grimace
no motion in my years of vice, I"m running out of alibis