longing for days that have already been played

Copy paste and decode 

symptoms of tomorrows non-existence 

sparrows running amuck in the fields that were called home

singing empty songs of yesterdays past

We play this field song like tribal drums in the mist

swallowing everything but the dust

sensing tomorrows dream but feeling the empty sense of it all

songs of yesteryear playing on the top forty

wanting dance and the sense of jive

staying is the best of this worse condition 

slumber in the mist we call fate

wallow with the pigs but do not get slaughtered 

those pearls will not get stuck in those throats 

we all whimper on the aftertaste

Forget the taste and follow along

seeking the gold that we can all drive on

longing for mansions and the coolest faze

wondering tomorrow if we can handle the haze

dancing with demons and the way of the west

not the six guns but the pimped out cool vests

sipping the song that will never play

longing for days that have already been played