On The Air - The Casket Lottery

Turn the radio off.

It’s just commercials made by stars

Turn down the auto-tune and reveal those wounds

And scars.

It’s all middle fingers and sex, and who’s

Ego can hold the most.

We just hop in a broken van and

We head out to the coast

Wide-eyed and wondering how we ever got here

Now I’m praying for a revolution on the air

Am I wasting all my time?

Or am I proving them all wrong?

Am

I wasting all my energy on these old songs?

These people aren’t

Even real.

They need choreigraphers just to breathe.

These people

Aren’t even real, they were raised by wolves, they think of us as sheep

Wide-eyed, it’s about time I got the hell out of here

But still I’m praying for a revolution on the air

Don’t you care?

There are people choking out here… it's got to stop

We all need fresh air.

We all need fresh air.

Don’t you care?

There

Are people being force fed bullshit out here.

Out here we all need

Fresh air.

We all need fresh air