Inebriated cowboys want their blackouts in a glass

take it back, drink it black, give me coffee heartattack
the ghost of a toast is drinking sawdust in the back
all dressed up in a subtle composition
you detain your delay, kill an evening with cliché
it's a fact, the attack on my chest has been released
now all I need is napkins an espresso and a priest
grace my love with a simple definition
you could claim you obey to the man who got away
Andrew's goldfish stares at Jennifer
just a day and we'll dance with a minister
left some rockstar daydreams in a cage
let us drink them center stage
can't you read, says the sign, on a broken glass of rum
The running men, the riders and apocalypse could come
kiss me screaming with the voices of tradition
we could rain this parade, test our faith with a crusade
I play guitar in a band, due to popular demand
gods that buy me ice-cream want me wishing their command
I'd rather be the drummer but I missed the first audition
so I pick and I play, fill your evening with cliché
played it mean, played it fast, still we're dropdead middle class
inebriated cowboys want their blackouts in a glass
we went to shoot the Beatles, but were low on ammunition
so we drove for a mile getting coffee for a smile
all juiced up in a calorie collision
to counter malnutrition I'll be dining off the crowd
I don't like what I'm drinking, but it's rock'n'roll tradition
the music is a metaphor as long as you can stay awake
wild-eyed running away