Riding up their faces down
Bright young things wade through town
Starved souls come to life
With pursed up lips and startrucked smiles
See the creature on the prowl
Pushing through the sea-foam crow
Bedridden femme fatales
Lining up to follow them around

I have caught this city
It won't me go

Archives of wasted times
In hazy states and drunken minds
Hung beauty on the walls
Who risk the world to bare it all
Gloss writers stuck for say
Ask why it has to be that way
Star at their nascent lines
And wonder why they lack for rhyme

Our sick generation
Is our festival

Stop to watch the sun sink down
Beneath a line of manmade clouds
Rode through the flood zone mire
With broken lights and one good tire
Raced up the temple hill
Took a blessing for a cheap thrill
Disposed it for a laugh
Post it to a Facebook photograph

And I love this city
It's a spectacle
A laugh a minute

Raised to avoid the lie,
Never learning how or why
Taught to defend that right
But never knowing what to fight
The scholling we'd forget
Chained is to a world of debt
Waste paint on what we feel
Without the art to make it real

But we love this city
We won't let it go
And we are this city

I watched the sun sink down
Beneath the line of manmade clouds
I watched the undead rise
And walk the streets in search of life
I've seen you back away
Talking to yourself for days
I've seen you sifting through
A trumpet up list of what life did to you

And I thought you'd make it
But you let go
Let yourself go crazy

Archives of wasted times
In hazy states and drunken minds
The scholling we'd forget
Chained is to a world of debt
Gloss writers stuck for say
Ask why it has to be that way
Waste words on what they feel
Without the pain to make it real

And I thought you'd make it
But you let go
Let yourself go crazy
Your festival

Sick generation
A spectacle
How I love this city
It won't let me go


Lyrics submitted by Mellow_Harsher

Bright Young Things song meanings
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