You thought you would have your way forever
Turned out not to be true
You thought you were the hero of the movie
Now the world points its finger back at you
What can you do? What can you do?
Throw a tantrum, play the victim
You thought you were the winner in the dogpile
That pile of bodies, now it's rolling over you
You thought you were the author of the future
The book slammed shut before the end of chapter 2
What do you say? What do you say?
Blow the same stupid horn
Serve the same tasteless corn
You can't be satisfied to sit and count your money
Without your words written in the air
It's not enough just to get away with murder
It eats you up that they don't love you everywhere
So you keep croaking at every microphone you see
Our forsaken angry god
One sad obsolescent clod
Atlas Wept Video (MV)
The Granite Countertops - Atlas Wept Lyrics
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We currently do not have these lyrics.
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You thought you would have your way forever
Turned out not to be true
You thought you were the hero of the movie
Now the world points its finger back at you
What can you do? What can you do?
Throw a tantrum, play the victim
You thought you were the winner in the dogpile
That pile of bodies, now it's rolling over you
You thought you were the author of the future
The book slammed shut before the end of chapter 2
What do you say? What do you say?
Blow the same stupid horn
Serve the same tasteless corn
You can't be satisfied to sit and count your money
Without your words written in the air
It's not enough just to get away with murder
It eats you up that they don't love you everywhere
So you keep croaking at every microphone you see
Our forsaken angry god
One sad obsolescent clod
Turned out not to be true
You thought you were the hero of the movie
Now the world points its finger back at you
What can you do? What can you do?
Throw a tantrum, play the victim
You thought you were the winner in the dogpile
That pile of bodies, now it's rolling over you
You thought you were the author of the future
The book slammed shut before the end of chapter 2
What do you say? What do you say?
Blow the same stupid horn
Serve the same tasteless corn
You can't be satisfied to sit and count your money
Without your words written in the air
It's not enough just to get away with murder
It eats you up that they don't love you everywhere
So you keep croaking at every microphone you see
Our forsaken angry god
One sad obsolescent clod
Writer: John Bassham
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid