Some backstreet scene outside a bar -
Your high heel brogues and that pale blue bra...
I asked you who you think you are...
And you showed me your two year old scar.
Then you gestured for me to type in your phone,
as you joked your way around my mother's home.
You showed me peace like i'd never known
but your last words took turns to defile my bones...
but it is what it is...
It is what it is...
A computer only tends to go so far...
your views tend to depend on where you are.
You're the residue of star...
but in your room everything seems so damn far.
And Lenore acts like it's all so plain,
I worshipped her but she doesn't even know my name -
to her god it's all the same...
To a black hole a human war is so inane...
A king pulls up to thumb down a train -
his fool managed first class seats again...
The tracks fly up into the fiery sky...
The only time this king ain't afraid to die.
And the conformants - the heathen healers - hold me down...
As I lay dormant the door keep sold my sound,
and Lenore, her call is so loud...
... The indifference dance of which we're all so proud...
It is what it is...
It is what it is...
It is what it is...
Her kin dies, and you don't say a thing...
You do try but the past is so fucking thin.
But those bridges you've burnt are dead and done...
And you can act like you ain't your mother's son.
But the sea says it all belongs to Lenore,
and that she says that a motherless son is poor...
And look how the suns of the sirens sore,
like the flags in the carnival that you adore.
It is what it is...
It is what it is...
It is what it is...
It is what it is.
