Well the steel in his strings    Cuts into his fingers    And the lines that are left    He knows so well       And the words that he screams    Sift through the smoke and sweat    While his wandering mind    Tries to tell...       To tell him he's uninspired    In some weary, absent way    To tell him he's simply tired...       Then the sound rolls in    And lifts him up and in to the place he should've been    Then the sound rolls in, and lifts him up and in       And when all has been drained    He wrestles with the feeling    Of an unfelt refrain that he knew too well       And the words that he hears,    Because they compliment    Are the words that he fears,    Because they tell...       They tell him he's uninspired    In some weary absent way    They tell him he's simply hired here.       Then the sound rolls in.    And lifts him up and in to the place he should've been    Then the sound rolls in...