Prophet Margins Songtext
von Snowmen

I′m not gonna count you in

Okay

Wringing up my hands
Flash an evil grin
Twenty years have passed
And now it's time to cash it in

With my handy fifty grand
And an arsenal of flops
I can ride this fuckin zombie pony
Straight up to the top

You′re no prophet
You are profit
The suites' defrosted you again

Take your money
Buy some boredom
Or go to London with your friends
Again

And I want you (to see us)


"Concerning my last email
Kindly fuck off
I didn't become a freelance videographer
To listen to you piss and moan
I′m the one with the camera so it′s my job
To settle the shot
I will be withholding work on this project
Until you allow me more creative control
And furthermore, I will be involving lawyers
To negotiate a contract for content ownership."

Cause I'm a trophy
I′m a toy
I'm an ordinary boy

Scraping paper made of sand
On my teeth and in my glands

I eat when I wanna eat
And I sleep when I wanna die
I am pointing both my middle fingers
Upwards towards the sky

But the sky it was too blue
And the sun it was too bright
And the day it was too cold
It was like, fucking, 40 degrees

So I kicked my kicking rock
Far into my neighbors land
And started whilstin′ a tune
Sing, "I'm Waiting, Waiting for my Man"

It′s true