We built this house on broken stones. The way we were the way we know is under us. And i've seen better sights, Inside that broken box we have in all our homes. What's going wrong with all our lives? What happiness has been deprived from all our, Hopes of felicity in surviving, Away from the outside world that's thriving on, This lifeless mode of being, And I'm far from agreeing that we're, Better off, Being blind to what we know is coming on. What makes us better forms of life? We were better metaphors for neon lights Since we're just, Lonely shades of bright, Collecting company with the sights. And I've seen better sights, Inside our hopeless thoughts that someday we'll find home, But for now we're all alone. I am a worthless piece of art, To the ama** of broken hearts, We've allowed them to impart, On our white canvas torn apart, But their just searching for a meaning through spare parts.