Written in ink,
all my heroes share a back seat to undeserving puppets stealing thunder with a smile.
Reinvent the present with a picture painted with a narrow view and dirty brushes dipped in bias.
Make-up statements looking flashy in a fancy font boutique
Catchy phrases for the lazy eye and those who hardly read
Play it smart and sharpen wits for self defense
Puncture sentence structure, watch it bleed between the lines.

Safety blanket for a hobo on a bench in central park west with a pigeon standing on his chest.
Seeking shelter from the elements of savvy urban planning, real estate and residence a myth.
Broken shoes wont improve his social standing
so he fishes out of wishing wells and ponders nothingness
Lines of stress tell a story on his face
A wrinkle on his skin for every dream left to waste

Metropolitan man, morning coffee in his hand as he stands in the middle of the platform
Seeking knowledge in an elevated train lobby
Planning his escape with a USA Today copy
Fancy shoes wont improve his social standing so he shines them to a polish
so they both reflect respect.
Lines of stress tell a story on his face,
A wrinkle on his skin for every dream he tried to chase.

Between the fold there’s a story with a twist
I toss and turn the pages but my heroes don’t exist
The cynics call it tragic but I’m caring less and less
The pressure from the press is the source of all the stress.
Between the fold there’s an angle with a spin
The truth is deemed elusive, getting tangled deep within
The cynics call it tragic but I’m caring less and less
The pressure from the press is the source of all the stress.

Spooky tales of a hurricane,
moving roofing sales above the market price and taking out the sugar cane
Rescue planes collecting dust, needy people losing trust in a system out of touch with the here and now
Photo ops for a cover story
Capture the mess
The less fortunate souls are looking so depressed
Behind the lens, feelings are detached.
They all escape the photo and it happens when it’s snapped
Filtered through a process in a dark room painted black
Victims on the cover with their empty faces staring back.



Lyrics submitted by crowleyyy

Pressure Press song meanings
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