Letra de Suffering For The Smile
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While the others swerved, Rick remained reserved, as these things are, as these things go. He thought it was funny how, while the rest were in a row, he sat aside and watched the show. He knew it was he who had no need for all of their shenanigans. A face so dead, he'd fit in with the mannequins.
And at twenty-eight, Rick was very late at picking up their social cues. He thought it was quite a stub after dancing at a club to stand aside and feign confused. He thought it was he who, though timid, had settled on a fine approach, where slipperless, like Cinderella and her coach, he'd stand bored lost inside his mind 'til the lights would come up and they'd find â at 2am he would still be there, just an altar boy without a prayer.
On a Monday night at the Featherlight, he showed up late to make the scene. He thought it was pitiful and the music it was dull. The girls who watched guessed Rick was mean, but they thought it was he who deserved to be someone they were talking to, and one girl asked, "Boy, why'dja hafta look so blue?"
He turned her way and spoke up to say, "I hate everybody in this place." He thought it was very clear but his humor, it was queer and with no hint 'cross his straight face. He thought that what she had just asked him was spoken just to condescend, but quite simply, she'd been hopeful that his jowls would mend â she'd just hoped that he'd crack a smile, but he went off in the corner for awhile.
And when we get older he'll still be there, pouting smugly in a rocking chair. (Beware.)
Here's the setting sun of another one. As rainstorms come and rainstorms go, he thought of his boring town painted boring brown and folks he did not care to know. He thought it was quite alright to go out tonight amid the shined-up, regular crowd. Yeah, it's just his style to be suffering for a smile. If one should wear a wrinkled brow, he thought it was he.
And at twenty-eight, Rick was very late at picking up their social cues. He thought it was quite a stub after dancing at a club to stand aside and feign confused. He thought it was he who, though timid, had settled on a fine approach, where slipperless, like Cinderella and her coach, he'd stand bored lost inside his mind 'til the lights would come up and they'd find â at 2am he would still be there, just an altar boy without a prayer.
On a Monday night at the Featherlight, he showed up late to make the scene. He thought it was pitiful and the music it was dull. The girls who watched guessed Rick was mean, but they thought it was he who deserved to be someone they were talking to, and one girl asked, "Boy, why'dja hafta look so blue?"
He turned her way and spoke up to say, "I hate everybody in this place." He thought it was very clear but his humor, it was queer and with no hint 'cross his straight face. He thought that what she had just asked him was spoken just to condescend, but quite simply, she'd been hopeful that his jowls would mend â she'd just hoped that he'd crack a smile, but he went off in the corner for awhile.
And when we get older he'll still be there, pouting smugly in a rocking chair. (Beware.)
Here's the setting sun of another one. As rainstorms come and rainstorms go, he thought of his boring town painted boring brown and folks he did not care to know. He thought it was quite alright to go out tonight amid the shined-up, regular crowd. Yeah, it's just his style to be suffering for a smile. If one should wear a wrinkled brow, he thought it was he.
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