Twisted little daydreams,
memories with pain,
locking me behind the closet door.
I will be a good boy,
promise I won't run,
sit quiet 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 wanna bathe in your life.
I wanna 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 wanna bathe in your life.
I wanna 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...