Throw my guitar down on the floor
No one cares what I've got to say anymore
I [bad word] here to be damned with faint praise
I'll write my masterpiece some other day
 [bad word] everything, [bad word] me)

I'm repeating myself again
Innovation, I leave to smarter men
Pretty melodies don't fall out of the air for me
I've got to steal them from somewhere
But it doesn't matter what you do
Or how hard you try
Now there's nothing left for me to do except die
When they cut you up
And tell you that it's not going to hurt
But they are not going to stop until they see you go to sleep in the dirt

There'll be no more cigarettes
No more having 
No more drinking until you fall on the floor
No more indie rock
Just a ticking clock
You have no time for that anymore
You better watch where [bad word] your mouth
Because you know what they'll say to you

They'll say
Your life is over [repeat until end]