Well the steel in his strings
   Cuts into his fingers
   And the lines that are left
   He knows so well
  
   And the words that he screams
   Sift through the smoke and sweat
   While his wandering mind
   Tries to tell...
  
   To tell him he's uninspired
   In some weary, absent way
   To tell him he's simply tired...
  
   Then the sound rolls in
   And lifts him up and in to the place he should've been
   Then the sound rolls in, and lifts him up and in
  
   And when all has been drained
   He wrestles with the feeling
   Of an unfelt refrain that he knew too well
  
   And the words that he hears,
   Because they compliment
   Are the words that he fears,
   Because they tell...
  
   They tell him he's uninspired
   In some weary absent way
   They tell him he's simply hired here.
  
   Then the sound rolls in.
   And lifts him up and in to the place he should've been
   Then the sound rolls in...