These words remaining complicated, tell me which way to run. Was it what youd
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expected then? Were rebels now without a soul. Selling songs to the naked, in the songs of a dead poet. We scatter the road. This time can you take it? Cause it feels like Im racing the world and Im second best. But its not my call if I crash and burn like the rest. So Ill write it down before it gets old. Times breaking a promise, and my words will let the truth be told. My lifes sinking faster now and Im wasted, in the songs of a dead poet. We scatter the road. This time can you take it? Cause it feels like Im racing the world and Im second best. But its not my call if I crash and burn like the rest. And the story gets old. And the story gets old. Walk into my life and point me to my own. And the story gets old, and the story gets old. Walk into my life and point me to it. If only a song were deep enough to be my last words. Sleep. We scatter the road. This time can you take it? Cause it feels like Im racing the world and Im second best. But its not my call if I crash and burn like the rest. And the story gets old, and the story gets old. Can someone point me to my home (Come point me to my own). In the songs of a dead poet.