Uninspired

The Connells

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...