We don’t lock the doors anymore.
We take those tired little dreams from our heads at night.
We put them underneath the basement floor.
You don’t stand a chance.
Lullabies that’ll cut like a knife
when the neighbor rearranges how you sleep at night.
He doesn’t care.
He’ll take the words you thought you knew
and change them, singing something softly, slightly out of tune.
A new hit for the masses that can’t sit still.
woOoOOooOo!
He sings:
No light, but a shadow in the night hiding in a secret scream,
whispered beneath the living.
But what’s the meaning?
“There is none.”
If I had to write a lullaby for Blossom Hell,
I think the song would come out bittersweet.
And if I used this catchy melody,
I’m sure the words would find themselves,
and I’d sing it like this:
You’d better watch yer back.
You’d better lock yer doors.
You’d better bang yer head,
drink less, and sleep more.
Hold yer friends close.
Hold them close before they’re gone.
Now they’re gone.
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