The Ugly Organ

There's a time and a place, this is neither the time nor the place.
"Where do I fit in, in this jigsaw of a relationship?!?
Why should I play the fall guy to your love?
I keep getting snubbed... what dumb luck, what dumb luck."

'So rub it in... in your dumb lyrics.
Yeah, that's the time and place to wring out your bullshit.
And each album I'll get shit on a little more, 'Who's Tim's latest whore?"
Now, that's not fair - no, that's just obscene.
I'll stop speaking for you if you stop speaking for me.

I'm writing songs to entertian,
but these people... they just want pain.
They want to hear my deepest sins
the songs from the ugly organ.
And what comes out is a horrible mess,
songs I can't forget
what's been said and this guilt I can't shed.
It still rings in my ears - Oh, get out
the butcher's knife.
I've been screaming for years
but it gets me nowhere
just get out the butcher's knife.

That organ's playing my song,
but this song's gone on too long.
What a day to sever such ugly extremities.
"What a lovely day", says the butcher
as he raises his arm.

Cut it out- your self-inflicted pain
is getting too routine
the crowds are catching on
to the self-inflicted song
Well, here we go again
the art of acting weak
Fall in love to fail
to boost your CD sales
(And that CD sells- yeah, what a hit)
You've got to repeat it
you gotta' sink to swim
If at fist you don't succeed
you gotta recreate your misery
'cause we all know art is hard
young artists have gotta starve
Try, and fail, and try again
the comforts of repetition
Keep churning out those hits
'til it's all the same old shit

Oh, a second verse!
Well, color me fatigued
I'm hiding in the leaves
in the CD jacket sleeves
tired of entertianing
some double-dipped meaning
a soft serve analogy
This drunken angry slur
in thirty-one flavors
You gotta' sink to swim
immerse yourself in rejection
regurgitate some sorry tale
about a boy who sells his love affairs
You gotta' fake the pain
you better make it sting
you're gonna' break a leg
when you get on stage
and they scream your name
"Oh, Cursive is so cool!"

You gotta sink to swim
impersonate greater persons
'cause we all know art is hard
when we don't know who we are

In the desert, where the cities are made of gold,
there's a girl playing hopscotch with pink ribbon pigtails.
And hermom calls out from an apartment balcony,
"Come on, baby! Your bath is ready! It's almost time for sleep!"
And I wonder who's the father...
And I wonder what they call her - Sierra.

Does her mother smoke, or does she jog every morning?
Does she drink when she thinks about me?
Or doesn't she need to drink... does she have a man who works a nine to five?
Does he come home to kiss our young Sierra, tuck her in and say goodnight?
(And an extra kiss for mama...)
I want that kiss, that kid, that apartment.

I'm ready to settle down now, so get that man out of my bed.
I want my daughter back now, I want to kiss her,
tuck her in and say, "goodnight, my baby girl, Sierra."

Sierra, Sierra, Sierra, Sierra,

I'll never know who you are, and I don't deserve to.
My little girl, we would've been so... oh, nevermind.
But I'm ready to settle down now - yeah, I'm ready to leave that wrecking ball behind.
I could be your carpenter, and you could be my twinkling north star o'er the desert sky.

"Now I can't stop the monster I've created"

And now, we proudly present
songs perverse and songs of lament.
A couple of hymns of confession,
and songs that recognize our sick obsessions.
Sing along- I'm on the ugly organ again.
Sing along- I'm on the ugly organ, so lets begin.
There's no use to keep a secret,
everything I hide ends up in lyrics...
so read on- accuse me when you're done-
if it sounds like I did you wrong.

Our father, who art in heaven,
save me from this wreck I'm about to drown in.
Didn't I learn anything counting out
my sins on rosary beads?
The reverend plays on the ugly organ;
He spews out his sweet and salty sermon
on the audience.

...So why do I think I'm any different?

I've been making money off my indifference.
We all pass the hat around,
'This is my body', this is the blood I found
on my hands after I wrote this album.
Play it off as stigmata for crossover fans...
some red handed sleight of hand.

Woah oh.