You put the sick in sycophant
You let the crowd decide your stance
You put the sick in sycophant

You wouldn't clap your hands
For fear of reprimand

Collected in a pool of fragments
You're part of a scene
A scene that's stagnant
Rejected from the other fragments
Your little scene is stagnant

You wouldn't clap your hands
For fear of reprimand
You wouldn't learn that brand-new dance
You wouldn't take a chance

They're forming a line
They're just wasting time
And if you're selling
Then I'm buying
If you're selling

You're digging a hole
And the marker reads "Rock n' Roll"
Watch it rot

Would-be damaged reprobates
Ad hoc rumpled fashion plates
Just let the 'net decide your fate
Becoming what you hate

You wouldn't clap your hands
For fear of reprimand

The gig of the week
It never fails
They follow like sheep
You play the blues
I got the blues

You're digging a hole
And the grave reads "Rock n' Roll"
Ashes to ashes

You don't know what to do at the end
Just do what you feel