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 quiet in my room
 Playing with my toy gun
 Now I'm older but the memories
 Still eat me like disease
 Alone and 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 streetlamps start to glow
 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
 Mama