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• Artiste: Street To Nowhere
• Titre: Dead Cliche
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high straight from the kitchen it's where we kept the knives that could slice the tense air from clenched fists I was impartial to pain but I fled home every day starin' at the veins through the skin on my wrists and in the morning when my throat burned like cuts and scrapes and salty dry eyes refused to wake the only one with cold hands up and mother, she'd say he'll be ok I'd be nothing but a dead cliche a dead cliche a dead cliche with nothing to say with nothign to say with nothing to say farewell notes are so passe so shoot me in the gallery we'll call it art you can critique the blood stains on the floor why let my death go to waste? if I'm dying anyway I might as well have something to die for 'cause I'm breathin' in dead air I'm tugging at dead skin I know the only road I walk is a dead end and the papers would agree it's the only fame I see 'cause all the greatest artists are insane or dead I'd be nothing but a dead cliche a dead cliche a dead cliche with nothing to say with nothing to say with nothing to say farewell notes are so passe made a heart out of tape and wire I painted it the color of cryin' eyes I wore it on my sleeve for the vultures to see you scream you burn you learn you look decay and die I'd be nothing but a dead cliche a dead cliche a dead cliche with nothing to say but farewell notes are so I'd be no more than a dead cliche a dead cliche a dead cliche with nothing to say with nothing to say nothing to say farewell notes are so oh farewell notes are so passe