Interpret:

Poets Of The Fall

Album:

Carnival of Rust

It's a bit like a trip
But you hit it with a slip of a tongue
Like a whip
And we're sinking
It ain't cool to be cool
Though you may think it a laudable tool of self evaluation
Of ego cultivation
N' I'm rolling my eyes like the stones for the lies
Is it really all about the size or just a simple vice...


Oh, and it makes the news
Oh, 'cos it sings the blues


I feel the fire flare alight inside me
Higher so I can see
N' aspire to survive this fight in spite of
Liars and travesty
Oh, fire


Did you think that I'd blink 
That I'd go and take the ink to your control
That I'd sell my soul
And does it ring any bells that it sells 
That we're living out of shells in a shotgun,
If we couldn't shoot,
We'd have to run, and finally the cerebral fantasy
Better genes and machines, so we can die 
Looking like we're teens, like snapshot scenes in smithereens...


Oh, and the ones we choose
Oh, witch hunting fools


I feel the fire...


Look there it is in the news again, yeah
There it goes singing the blues again


Fire flare alight inside me...


Fire, return my joy 'cos I'm so
Tired, tired of me
Inspire the weary eyed to see the
Ire and irony
Oh, fire