«Minstrels»
Did you know the half listening world is sitting on its throne
Kings and queens judging you from home
And you’re the minstrel in their court
With looks like that who needs any support
Those lights that shined on you just masked the fucking truth
So play what they want to hear success is based upon your fear
Of consequences if the king does not approve
Then it’s back to the cell for you
And you’ll never make the music that you want to
I was told that music was the expression of one’s soul
I guess that means that yours was sold
The next ten years of songs have been written and if you get
A fat enough check you can buy yourself the next big fucking hit
I’ll play what I want to hear my passion lies in my own ears
In another year the king may draw his gun
Then it’s back to square one
And I could care less cause I’ve already won
I thought that music was an expression of one’s soul
I guess that means that yours was sold
And when you stand to sing it doesn’t mean a thing