歌词
Composing a posthumous poetic ode
As a witness to the waning of heroes
Your foresight is flat with no notion of that
Which draws out your yearning to be those
Holding on high as a Homer with eyes
But you're just another coming of Nero
Waxing aloud, you behave
As the mouthpiece of the mourning conclave
As if words have the power to save
As you wait in line to weep for the watchers
While dancing on everyone's grave
Those legends you've chosen to build upon poorly
Prove lacking as you mispronounce
There is never a game for the sake of fame
Upon which you would pass up to pounce
It goes clearly against your tainted intention
While you unwittingly denounce
Just as the ones that you ape
Far past the critical point of escape
Feigning your grief for the stage
Finding your focus, fawning the inflicted
And dancing on everyone's grave
It's the one and the six and the two and the five
While the three and the four all make seven
Your heavy airs weighted by praise calculated
To flatter your way into heaven
With lines truly earnest, but lacking all shame
And a rhyme scheme as cheap as eleven
Caring not for what you pay
To be in the room at the time Death might say
"It is now your turn to play"
But cease with your dealings in dullery
And don't go dancing on anyone's grave
Written by: Bradley Allan Fielder
