Dead men tell the finest tales
they echo in our hearts
and burn our lungs from the inside
like the smoke from the cigarette you light
A dead man walking is the finest thing indeed
When you read my words you watch me bleed
A curse held by those who leave a legacy
Drowning in sorrow and swimming in tragedy
Profundity comes with a price
Your soul flees early if you roll the dice
to make it big, to win the game
To gain your glory, fortune, or fame
Dead men rot before they ever hit the ground,
Misery by the mile and headaches by the pound.
No matter what their hearts desire and eyes seek,
Madness for the brilliant and boredom for the weak.
But even dead men who seek no success,
Locked in a room - o'er page, under duress
May find their disposition has sealed their fate
A minute too soon is a second too late
In the world of the living, the dead men wait
Break down the door and open the gate
to find freedom from their earthly bounds
Rebirthed from our sighs falling flat on the ground
Desperate to find another way,
All that we gain is what the dead men pay.
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