Well the steel in his strings

Cuts into his fingers

And the lines that are left

He knows so well



And the words that he screams

Sift through the smoke and sweat

While his wandering mind

Tries to tell...



To tell him he's uninspired

In some weary, absent way

To tell him he's simply tired...



Then the sound rolls in

And lifts him up and in to the place he should've been

Then the sound rolls in, and lifts him up and in



And when all has been drained

He wrestles with the feeling

Of an unfelt refrain that he knew too well



And the words that he hears,

Because they compliment

Are the words that he fears,

Because they tell...



They tell him he's uninspired

In some weary absent way

They tell him he's simply hired here.



Then the sound rolls in.

And lifts him up and in to the place he should've been

Then the sound rolls in...