Our Life is Not A Movie or Maybe
(G)It's just a (C)bad movie, where there's (G)no (D)crying
handing the (G)key to (C)me in this (G)Red (D)Lion,
where the (C)clock that you (G)locked in the (C)suite says there's (Em)no(D)prying.
When the (C)breath that you (G)breathed in the (C)street screams there's (Em)no (D)science
When you (C)look how you (G)looked then to (C)me, then I (Em)cease (D)lying and fall
C G C Em D
It's just a life story, so there's no climax.
No more new territory, so pull away the imax.
In the slot that you sliced through the scene there was no shyness.
In the plot that you passed through your teeth there was no pity.
No fade in: film begins on a kid in the big city.
And no cut to a costly parade (that's for him only!).
No dissolve to a sliver of grey (that's his new lady!)
where she glows just like grain on the flickering pane of some great movie.
It's just a house burning, but it's not haunted.
It was your heart hurting, but not for long, kid.
In the socket you spin from with ease there is no sticking.
From the speakers your fake masterpiece is serenely dribbling.
When the air around your chair fills with heat, that's the flames licking
beneath the clock on the clean mantelpiece. It's got a calm clicking,
like a pro at his editing suite takes two weeks stitching up some bad movie.