It's a planet of arsonists, cheap quarter artists Where you hardly remember names Where the heroes you once had are scarred and destroyed By the hollering mob of little boys In the face of it all they say give me a man Who'll burn way better than me And I'll watch him descend on the needles, the models And I'll watch him go down for free Yeah I'll watch him drown for me How the chords the howls the whispers That we built when we were kings End up washed upon the portals Of their aching personal skin I am not your next of kin And yes I care And so what were the chances, a battle of mice And the death of rock and roll And we're all coming down Naked and stoned, bowing to those Who now rule the kingdom by self decree Cause the motion is theirs, even we Must be serving the mass, with an absence of class And a graceless mp3 The only songs they love are free How the chords the howls the whispers That we built when we were kings End up washed upon the portals Of their aching personal skin I am not your next of kin And yes I care Yes I care In your rgb e-world And yes I care