My generation is zero
I never made it as a working class hero
21st century breakdown
I once was lost but never was found
I think I’m losing what’s left of my mind
To the 20th century deadline
Author: wasted
My Generation
People try to put us d-down (talkin’ ’bout my generation)
Just because we get around (talkin’ ’bout my generation)
Things they do look awful c-c-cold (talkin’ ’bout my generation)
I hope I die before I get old (talkin’ ’bout my generation)
This is my generation
This is my generation, baby
Why don’t you all f-fade away (talkin’ ’bout my generation)
Don’t try to dig what we all s-s-s-say (talkin’ ’bout my generation)
I’m not trying to ’cause a big s-s-sensation (talkin’ ’bout my generation)
I’m just talkin’ ’bout my g-g-g-generation (talkin’ ’bout my generation)
My generation
This is my generation, baby
Förtvivlan, Min Arvedel
Jag ser svart, min syn den är fördunklad
Ingen tro och inget hopp och ingen kärlek
Jag ser svart, gator, hus och torg
Jag ser svart, och ingenting betyder någonting
Förvivlan, varthän jag går och varthän jag ser
Förtvivlan, min arvedel
Och jag vet att allt det jag säger och gör
Att allt det är fel
Men lik förbannat så skriker min kropp
Efter mer, och mer, och mer, och mer, och mer
Krossad och skadad och bruten itu
Systematiskt raserar jag allting som någonsin betytt något för mig
Med ett leende maniskt likt en autobahn bred
Inser jag slutligen svaret till varför jag inte vill leva något mer
Därför att ingenting, ingenting spelar någon roll
Nej, ingenting spelar någon roll
Precious (Part Two)
Angels with silver wings
Shouldn’t know suffering
I wish I could take the pain for you
If God has a master plan
That only He understands
I hope it’s your eyes He’s seeing through
Things get damaged
Things get broken
I thought we’d manage
But words left unspoken
Left us so brittle
There was so little left to give
Precious (Part One)
Precious and fragile things
Need special handling
My God what have we done to you?
We always try to share
The tenderest of care
Now look what we have put you through
Things get damaged
Things get broken
I thought we’d manage
But words left unspoken
Left us so brittle
There was so little left to give
Working Class Hero
As soon as you’re born they make you feel small
By giving you no time instead of it all
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all
A working class hero is something to be
They hurt you at home and they hit you at school
They hate you if you’re clever and they despise a fool
Till you’re so fucking crazy you can’t follow their rules
A working class hero is something to be
When they’ve tortured and scared you for twenty-odd years
Then they expect you to pick a career
When you can’t really function you’re so full of fear
A working class hero is something to be
Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV
And you think you’re so clever and classless and free
But you’re still fucking peasants as far as I can see
A working class hero is something to be
There’s room at the top they’re telling you still
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill
If you want to be like the folks on the hill
A working class hero is something to be
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
Good Riddance
Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go
So make the best of this test, and don’t ask why
It’s not a question, but a lesson learned in time
It’s something unpredictable, but in the end it’s right
I hope you had the time of your life
So take the photographs, and still-frames in your mind
Hang them on a shelf in good health and good time
Tattoo’s of memories and dead skin on trial
For what it’s worth, it was worth all the while
It’s something unpredictable, but in the end it’s right
I hope you had the time of your life
Letterbomb
Where have all the bastards gone?
The underbelly stacks up ten high
The dummy failed the crash test
Collecting unemployment checks
Like a flunkie along for the ride
Where have all the riots gone?
As your city’s motto gets pulverized
What’s in love is now in debt
On your birth certificate
So strike the fucking match to light this fuse
The town bishop is an extortionist
And he don’t even know that you exist
Standing still when it’s do or die
You better run for your fucking life
You’re not the Jesus of Suburbia
The St. Jimmy is a figment of
Your father’s rage and your mother’s love
Made me the idiot America
It’s not over ’till you’re underground
It’s not over before it’s too late
This city’s burnin’
It’s not my burden
It’s not over before it’s too late
Give Me Novacaine
Take away the sensation inside
Bitter sweet migraine in my head
It’s like a throbbing tooth ache of the mind
I can’t take this feeling anymore
Drain the pressure from the swelling
The sensation’s overwhelming
Give me a long kiss goodnight and everything will be alright
Tell me that I won’t feel a thing
So give me Novacaine
Out of body and out of mind
Kiss the demons out of my dreams
I get the funny feeling, that’s alright
Jimmy says it’s better than here
I’ll tell you why
Drain the pressure from the swelling
The sensation’s overwhelming
Give me a long kiss goodnight and everything will be alright
Tell me that I won’t feel a thing
So give me Novacaine
St. Jimmy
St. Jimmy’s comin’ down across the alleyway
Up on the boulevard like a zip gun on parade
Light of a silhouette
He’s insubordinate
Coming at you on the count of one, two (one, two, three, four)
My name is Jimmy and you better not wear it out
Suicide commando that your momma talked about
King of the forty thieves
And I’m here to represent
That needle in the vein of the establishment
I’m the patron saint of the denial
With an angel face and a taste for suicidal
Cigarettes and Ramen and a little bag of dope
I am the son of a bitch and Edgar Allan Poe
Raised in the city under a halo of lights
The product of war and fear that we’ve been victimized
I’m the patron saint of the denial
With an angel face and a taste for suicidal
wasted 