The Corpses of Our Motivations - The Lawrence Arms

Catching up on nothing in the basement I call home.

Dismantling discussions on a piss-soaked telephone.

I’m all grown up.

I’ve thrown up theses feelings lots before.

You’re sitting in the park while I’m staring at the door.

Enough self-mutilation.

I’ve water-logged and choked.

A hundred beers another week ensconced in yellow smoke.

I’m no devil, I just have these demons keeping me awake,

Pushing on my go-leg, laughing at cut brakes.

The corpse of my motivation hangs

In the closet next to skeletons and bloody vampire fangs.

Sleep all day, drink the life away.

It’s another step closer to the comfort of the grave.

This coffin’s full of nails, rails and pipe and glass,

Rotting under yellow growing grass.

Five in the chamber and I’m flying through the air.

I’ve tied my blind fold tightly, I’m cutting my hair.

I’m a bullet and a target, and I’m drenched splattered blood.

I’ve learned my lesson one time, but once isn’t enough.

So dry your hands, wash 'em clean, wash 'em clean of me.

Wave your victor’s flag on your pile of debris

'Cause when you die like a hero, you live like a slave.

I’d rather die to see it change than live and watch it stay the same

Where the corpses of our motivations hang

On the gallows over-ripe with shit like colostomy bags

So we sleep all day, drink the life away.

It’s another step closer to the comfort of the grave.

This coffin’s full of nails, rails and pipe and glass,

Rotting under yellow growing grass.

There’s party in the woods and a dance in the city streets

And a rumble down the avenue of fifty thousand stomping feet.

And the fire is getting high igniting sweaty powdered brows.

And if he hasn’t saved you yet, he isn’t gonna save you now,

Sleep all day, drink the life away.

It’s another step closer to the comfort of the grave.

Sleep all day, drink the life away.

It’s another step closer to the comfort of the grave.

Sleep all day, drink the life away.

It’s another step closer to the comfort of the grave.

And you’re more beautiful than you were on the day that we first met.

My angel of the not yet buried dead.