Sour Grapes

Album cover art for "Sour Grapes" by American Theory

American Theory - Rock, Math Rock

Sour Grapes

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Duration: 3:31

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Lyrics

I'm not coming home I'm running to the rising sun Streets paved with gold And vineyards in the fold I'm a guilty man with guilty hands And I'm in love with slow digressions Goodbye structure and constraint I'm never coming home So take your pick and choose your poison Drink till you're sick beyond a reason You're not at fault The system's weakness It's all in season I think I'm dead; An angel in the shoulder A devil on the other with No evidence I'm no metaphor But read between the lines: It's common courtesy for us Not to leave anybody behind And I'm sure that there's a line Between the privileged and the poor Frenzied ferrymen are playing Texas Hold' Em With Jesus Christ and twelve battleships built by gluttons (No sentiment of circumstance What's a theory without practice? The cards compounding; Fold or forfeit profit.) I think I'm dead; An angel in the shoulder A devil on the other with No evidence Cause we're all different books With different authors The pressure's setting in It hasn't rained in many years It's time to make a better move We're running out of things to teach And running out of kids to learn Running out of room to run The frontier ends so take a breath and Jump out of these shoes laced with ignorance And into soles of understanding Cause the world is squared off, and You'll find it's never better on the other side These people are sour, as I realize that I just know I wanna go home I wanna go home! I think I'm dead; An angel in the shoulder A devil on the other with No evidence Cause we're all different books With different authors The pressure's setting in The pressure's setting in

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Credits

Producers
  • Drew Cyphers