They say that they hear music but all I hear is noise
The noise of the desperately attention starved
And the rich and the famous

Because we live in an age
When a waist size of 8 inches
Sells 8 million copies
And buying makeup is the only thing on the agenda

Guitars are not instruments
But clothing for your album cover
And a cover was the only sort of song you can produce
And all you could think to add was a new backbeat

And so there I am again every night at the piano
Trying to hear over my sister’s boom box
Like using a cell phone on a busy side walk
Flipping the radio stations
But it all sounds the same

You’ll never sell if you don’t bleach your hair
And how can you have talent
With zits and a big nose

It’s been a long time since I could hear the raindrops on my windowpane
Through the thick smog of industry

All I hear is noise and it’s giving me a headache
 
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