Turn Those Clapping Hands Into Angry Balled Fists (Live)

Sleep on pillows made in Singapore
Wrapped in comforters, sweating through sheets
Drink your coffee in the morning
Flown in on airplanes across vast seas

And your house is made of wood
Central air, central heat
You got your furniture of particle board
Your doors are locked for safety

And you walk in leather shoes
Pants of denim, a black cotton sweatshirt
You do what you do
Because doing can start to form a habit

And you drink all night long
And you sleep through the morning
If something doesn't break
I'm just going to go, go fucking insane

You sweep and mop the floor when it's dirty
Do the dishes when the sink is full
And when the refrigerator's empty, it's time, it's time
It's time to go to the store

You put your books on a shelf
Clothes arranged in the closet
You hang the things on the walls
That you don't want to be so easily forgotten

I hate these songs
I hate the words that the singer is singing to me
I hate this melody
I hate this stupid fucking drum beat

But I'm not going to tell anyone
What I'm really thinking about
Keeping conversations on the surface, just keep on smiling
Just keep on saying everything's going to be alright

Writer(s): Thomas Gabel
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