Andy Warhol Was Right

Twisted little daydreams, memories with pain Locking me behind the closet door I will be a good boy, promise, I won't run Sit quite in my room, playing with my toy gun Now I'm older but the memories still eat me like disease Alone in the darkness, watching you on my TV Why did God make you so famous, when he only spit on me? I want to bathe in your light I want to be on the news If I take your life, it's nothing personal Just a boy and his toy gun dying for attention Sitting on the steps, the sun is sinking low The world gets very quiet as the street lamps start to glow I step out and I raise my gun, time just seems to slow For a moment, I can see myself trapped in your reflection I'm angry and I'm lonely and I'm dying for attention I want to bathe in your light I want to be on the news If I take your life, it's nothing personal Just a boy and his toy gun dying for attention Dying for attention Mama