Westerberg-inspired pop for the goth chick
Rootsy, folky Americana cowpunk rock (with a big ol' slice of simple country despair)
Be good.
Lyrics
Rate of Decay
"My life ain’t nothing," she says
"My life ain’t nothing to look forward to
I’m dying, no one understands me," she says
"I’m dying, and it’s all because of you."
"My life sucks, might as well speed this up
My heart is black, and I don’t even care anymore
I am the only one who’s ever felt this bad
I am the only one who’s ever wished they were dead."
Well, she’s wearing all black
Every day’s a funeral
She’s tearing a hole in herself
At this rate of decay, you’ll be dead in a week
We’re all dying inside from something
There’s nothing special about you
And that’s what makes you special
Write it down, there’s power in pen and ink
Then get out, you’ve got too much time to think
We’re all dying, don’t you think we’re all bruised and cut?
We’re all dying, there’s no need to speed it up
You’re spinning too fast
You’re flying right past
All the good stuff, all the good stuff, yeah
At this rate of decay, you’ll be dead in a week
We’re all dying inside from something
There’s nothing special about you
And that’s what makes you special
You don’t drink, you don’t smoke
But that attitude will make you real old, real quick
What’s your half-life? What’s your half-life?
What’s your rate of decay? Is it a good life?
