Screaming Is Bad For The Voice, But

And Me I'm In My Bedroom Drawing In My Notebook Because My Hand Thinks I'm An Artist But My Heart Knows I'm A Poet It's Just Words They Mean So Little To Me.

I Know A Girl Who Cries When She Practices Violin Because Each Note Sounds So Pure It Just Cuts Into Her, And Then The Melody Comes Pouring Out Her Eyes. Now, To Me, Everything Else Just Sounds Like A Lie.

And In The Morning When The Sun Rise. Look In The Water, See The Blue Sky. As If Heaven Has Been Laid There At Our Feet.

I Have Many Friends Who Are Both Mexican And Mexican-american And Others Who, I Guess You Would Say, Are Somewhere In Between. The Ironic Thing Is That All Three Of Those Categories Often Exist Inside Of The Same Family.

The Drunk Kids, The Catholics They're All About The Same They're Waiting For Something Hoping To Be Saved