The villain’s screaming last call and the heroes are matadors
In the innocent fiesta before the Spanish Civil War
Everyone looked up to ones that lived life all the way
While laughing through poor fistfights in Parisian cafes
No one can pass judgment when everyone’s the same
Down to the fucking filter and out of the fucking frame
I’m living like Hemingway without the money or the prose
I guess the only thing we got in common
is the drink and a broken nose
and we sometimes see beauty in a world fucked completely
It’s a crime to keep that beauty to yourself
Don’t ever use six words when only three will do
and don’t put pen to paper if you’re not wrung out through and through
Everyone looks up to ones who live life all the way
laughing off bad decisions just to make it through the day
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