Next Year

Colour in the picture frame,

From the first good night to the last good day,

Eternally it got away.

It cuts you like a melody,

From a band you’ve heard but never seen,

It turns you round and makes you bleed.

To live a life where nothing changes,

So polite it should be painless,

The first good liar was so contagious,

Asking why?

If you're searching for something,

Something to fear.

If you’re fighting for nothing,

When nothing’s disappeared.

Try opening your eyes ‘cause,

The grass ain't growing here.

The truth’s in the pain,

Will it all be the same next year?

So give me all my lines to say,

In black and white never shades of gray,

How clinically it all decays.

Try opening your eyes ‘cause,

The grass ain't growing here.

The truth’s in the pain,

Will it all be the same next year?