|
He ironed his shirt and pressed his pants |
|
And with a dull empty sadness hanging over his heart |
|
He shined his shoes. |
|
'It's better than working for a living', the waitress said. |
|
But all the time inside, Johnny's heart was breaking |
|
Open wide. |
|
Playing in that half empty Twilight Room on a Saturday |
|
Johnny tried to dream his life away |
|
Hoping that he would wake up in the beam of a super trooper |
|
Wishing that he was much cooler. |
|
All he heard his head say was |
|
"Life ain't like that". |
|
In the sorrow of his dressing room he sat |
|
So he drains the bottle |
|
Loads the gun |
|
Writes the note |
|
No-one will come |
|
Pulls the trigger |
|
Breaks the glass |
|
The man in the mirror |
|
Is dead at last. |
|
The note said "Stick your club right up your ass, |
|
This gig stinks, you're second class, |
|
I'm going to save my pride, keep my head, |
|
If people ask, that singer's dead." |
|
So when every hour seems like a day |
|
And nothing seems to go your way. |
|
Don't let those bastards drag you down |
|
You've got to hold on to what you've got |
|
Don't swan dive off a bottle top |
|
All you got to do is blow that town. |
