Andy Warhol Was Right

Twisted little daydreams,

Memories with pain

Locking me behind the closet door

I will be a good boy

Promise I won't run

Sit quiet in my room

Playing with my toy gun

Now I'm older but the memories

Still eat me like disease

Alone and in the darkness

Watching you on my tv

Why did god make you so famous

When he only spit on me

I wanna bathe in your life

I wanna be on the news

If I take your life

It's nothing personal

Just a boy and his toy gun

Dying for attention

Sitting on the steps

The sun is sinking low

The world gets very quiet

As the streetlamps start to glow

Step out and I raise my gun

Time just seems to slow

For a moment I can see myself

Trapped in your reflection

I'm angry and I'm lonely

And I'm dying for attention

I wanna bathe in your life

I wanna be on the news

If I take your life

It's nothing personal

Just a boy and his toy gun

Dying for attention

Mama