I see your hands so full of cash, one thing I swear I'll never have, gleeful in all they covert. Yet our hardened hands, so resolute, 
are filled only with the hands of others. And as you grasp at the grains of youth, all Gray and Faust reminiscent, we have 
embraced mortality thus, escaping a desperate prison. These things you do aren't working, they feed your cancers. It's the 
chemicals that wash your thoughts, every time you drink to hurt them. It's the poisons in your chest, it's your lack of time with him. 
These things you do aren't working. It's hard and we are poor but we are young and we are good, and if you feel you're on your 
own, it's not because you're wrong, just few have the courage, to see this 'til its done, we are no longer satisfied by fun, we are 
harder now... We are no longer satisfied by fun, our eyes are keen and stern for all that's good, we are harder now for what's been 
done. I wish it could be night all the time, it's so romantic when the sun doesn't shine, and I don't feel guilty or lazy for being poor, 
and I want to pursue meaning more. But they say life is darkest just before the sun, and so thank god the [bad word]  Is it right 
to sell your time 'til it's gone? Is all this more valuable than a song? Play on brothers, play on.