Dead Clichã© Lyrics - Singles - Street To Nowhere

I strayed from the kitchen that's where we kept the knives 

that could slice the tense air from clenched fists 

I wasn't partial to pain but I fled home everyday, 

staring at the veins through the skin on my wrist 

And in the morning when my throat burned like cuts and scrapes 

and salty dry eyes refused to wake 

the only warmth were cold hands of a mother 

she'd say "it'll be ok" 

I'd be no more than A Dead Clich, 

A Dead Clich 

A Dead Clich 

with nothing to say 

farewell notes are so pass 

So shoot me in a gallery, we'll call it art 

you can critique the blood stain 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 breathing in dead air, I'm tugging at dead skin 

I know that every road I walk is a dead end 

And the papers would agree it's the only fame I'll see 

Cause all the greatest artists are insane. Or Dead. 

I made a heart out of tape and wire 

I painted it the color of crying eyes 

I wore it on my sleeve 

for the vultures to see 

screamed 

you're born you learn you work decay and die