6:00AM - the alarm clock sings Your ears still ring from last night's show Burnt toast - the coffee burns your throat Rush to work A silk noose that completes the look of someone else's résumé The fraud you try to sell Revelations too bitter to face In time the noise inside finds a way to seep through your deadened eyes Twisting, turning, weeping, let it out Wanting, waiting, yearning, wanna scream it out But silent and sleepless, the bed sheets just know what's up At daybreak the brave face hides what knots you up 6:00AM - the alarm clock stings Your eyes pour like springs - you fight to stop the flow A burden binds you to your work A white shirt, a silk noose, your aging looks The tattoo across your chest that bleeds onto your sleeves A bleeding heart repents The last words you can't take back That door shuts for good she ain't coming back Twisting, turning, weeping, let it out Wanting, waiting, yearning, wanna scream it out Lonely so lonely, the bed sheets just know what's up At daybreak the brave face hides what knots you up

Love and commitment to my life has been like The Communist Revolution So much hope and so many promises But instead a cold war of the heart divides You and I into East-West across the Eastern front of the Yonge line Me in the West - in London regress The Diplomat stalled before it reached the Guelph line So many mistakes and broken promises The negotiations drag on and on The tactical assault on my waning heart Will not got unanswered this time Love and commitment to my life has been like The Industrial Revolution So much hope and so many promises But the pollution of the soul corrupts the mind To believe that you like an island nation Can self-sustain and stand alone But expect a collapse when you over extract The exhaustible resources of your fragile soul So many mistakes and broken promises The mining goes on and on Deeper you go the bleaker your soul becomes If you don’t replace balance of what you've sold Love and commitment to my life has been like The Quiet Revolution So much hope and so many promises The separation of faith from the state of your mind Two solitudes in a faltering union No common language we speak and no restitution We get along if we avoid the conversation But unresolved and divided we fall So many mistakes so many broken promises The debating just goes on and on Like a letter bomb to heart martial law is just the start Watching our migration carry on

Got a mission got a motivation Gonna start this band Got these songs about the religious right and warring Afghan clans Got a Hiwatt and a Marshall stack A manifesto in draft Gonna seize the cities – ignite the nation – well at least that’s the working plan Got a demo got a label contact They're gonna sign this band Crunch the numbers – cut another bed track – cut the ballad as planned Dear Mr. Cokehead-burnout-A&R rep. got the demo in hand To whom we submit for consideration Write back, please, as soon as you can But the label wrote back, the demo is trash, the record is put on hold For a focus group to consult, to add to insult, the reps will let you know And the reps are swine, they just drink and do lines, and call your girlfriends hoes And the vinyl comes back cause the records were scratched This is getting old! Old – my fleeting youth retreats etched to the back of my hand Got a mission, got an inspiration Last chance to make a decent last stand Burning vision, burning cigarette stains the fingers clenched to this draft of a contract litigating desperation Is this the right choice or last choice tell me soon as you can Got a demo got a label contract Their gonna fuck this band Gonna sign us to a five record deal with a label directed option to demand a little bit more creative input – restrain the lyricist hands No market for an insurrection Wal-Mart dictates the marketing plan So the label wrote back the demo is still trash – the reps are still not sold That this aging band suites the marketing plan We’re striving for a gold record release – shareholders to appease – business can be cold Outlook is bleak – you're a little too meek and you’re getting awfully old Don’t mean to criticize, but the lines under your eyes – Photoshop can’t control the passage of time – kids are waiting in line for their shot a gold record release Shareholders are pleased In your living room, staring at your record collection, crippled with self doubt Desperate for some inspiration, got your Jesus and Mary Chain records out Out! Get off the mailing list! I unsubscribe to your band Grand illusion – Twenty grand to fess up No opening slot that can’t be reserved for your brand of keenly crafted marketable angst tattooed to the backs of your hands No market model can avert product misplacement Market contraction as inevitable as the failure of your band Burning vision, burning cigarette stains the fingers clenched to this draft Draw another pint of bitter excess No chance to make a decent last stand Burning vision, burning cigarette claims the stinging text of this draft of the letter of rejection stating the label’s intention to terminate this bailout plan