كلمات Front Row Seats

Two, three, four I woke up in a terrible mood Swing to the good despite how I should feel Am I a buzzkill? Am I a Goodwill? I could mean well, but couldn't these freaks tell? Some people say I got my head in the clouds But from up here I can see more of the ground They see the ground, but space is so loud I can cause drought, bring the rain down I'm a singer, I'm an artist I'm not genius, no, I'm not perfect I'm the ringer, with a market I'm not Jesus, no, I'm not perfect I made noise in a strangers ear Chased off the fear away with the question Any suggestion was sent as a message I learned a lesson, fix your perception If I close this scope and aperture Words and literature, figureheads and spur Into my sign, scream, run, and hide Indeed it's a lot, seek what you find I'm a singer, I'm an artist I'm not genius, no, I'm not perfect I'm a singer and I'm an artist I'm not Jesus, no, I'm not perfect Tremors tremble tremolo, tearing into tempo 'Don't care if you do not know, pairing with the dead flow Apparently death row has front seats To what's underneath as these beasts defeat us Fight these demons, tonight we're sleeping Dreaming to keep those creepers weepin' What is fear but a good idea? What is here except what we fear? I'm a singer, I'm an artist I'm not genius, no, I'm not perfect I'm a singer, I'm an artist I'm not Jesus, no, I'm not perfect I'm not perfect