SCREENS LYRIC © Ben Wittrock
In the eyes of sheltered youth,
White lies distort our world views.
Packaged up and brought to you,
Their highest bidder gets to write the truth.

(All while…)
Looking on the screens,
Words are telling me,
That I should sit down and give in,
Give up, Let go,
It’s outta my control.

A quick fix of tylenol.
They’ll burn your conscience with their ethanol,
They’ll drown yourself in alcohol,
If it makes a profit nothing is unethical.

(All while…)
Looking on the screens,
Words are telling me,
That I should sit down and give in,
Give up, let go,
It’s outta my control.

…it’s out of their control.

Living off the screens,
Words aren’t selling me,
And they should sit down, give in,
Give up, let go,
It’s out of their control.


PUTRESCENT ADOLESCENT LYRIC © Ben Wittrock
Who are you to let your moments pass?
Why are you envisioning through broken glass?
Seems to me tautological,
All used up and illogical…

Putrescent adolescent,
Are these your lessons learned?
Putrescent adolescent,
Are these your bridges burned?

Where is this, this life heading to?
When will this begin to start feeling new?
Seems to me tautological,
All used up and illogical…

Putrescent adolescent,
Are these your lessons learned?
Putrescent adolescent,
Are these your bridges burned?

What is all this sense amid the rot?
I’m finding out what cannot be taught,
I’ve found myself becoming self aware,
I saw myself and I have left him there,
I’ve been reborn,
I’ve ripped out my thorns,
And though I cannot hide these wounds,
My scars are bare,
And I’ve found myself becoming self aware.

Putrescent adolescent,
Are these your lessons learned?
Putrescent adolescent,
Are these your bridges burned?

Are you self aware?


HAND GRENADE LYRIC © Ben Wittrock
It seems like every day,
You’re cocked like a hand grenade.
You’ve locked up all your pain,
Into palm sized bombs of hate,
Exploding,
You light up like a hand grenade.

Your reflection is a battlefield,
Between you and yourself.
You’ve built up all these walls,
In defense against help.

Unpinned,
It seems like everyday,
You’re cocked like a hand grenade,
You’ve locked up all your pain,
Into palm sized bombs of hate,
Exploding,
You light up like a hand grenade.

Pride against decency,
You choose to repeat,
All the same mistakes,
From your history you swore not to repeat.

It seems like everyday,
You’re cocked like a hand grenade,
You’ve locked up all your pain,
Into palm-sized bombs of hate,
Exploding,
You light up like a hand grenade.

I’m done with all your hate,
And your masquerade,
Exploding,
You light up like a hand grenade.


FALLING FORWARD LYRIC © Ben Wittrock
It’s alright,
It’s okay if you can’t decide.
It’s too late to think that the past collides,
Into your own future; Within your hands,
It’ll end up fatal if yah can’t,
If yah can’t pretend,
To live your dreams in the present tense.

So if,
You hold on so you don’t fall forward,
Stop holding on and start falling forwards.

Don’t let the pleads of others coincide,
And disrupt desires developed inside,
All of your own passions are free to be,
In their own living fashions,
In your who-to-be,
If you live your dreams,

But if,
You hold on so you don’t fall forward,
Stop holding on and start falling forward.

Stop feeling falsely if you can’t let it go,
Your mind makes up thoughts that only you control,
Stop holding on and start falling forward,
If thoughts bite your tongue as you’re lost,
You’re lost for words.

Well I won’t play this charade baby,
No complaints, no buts excused maybes,
I won’t let them compose my thoughts,
I won’t be their pawned off robot,
Revolution combusts in flames,
Destroy to create, initiate the change.

So if you hold on, so you don’t fall forward,
Stop holding on and start falling forward.

Stop feeling falsely if you can’t let it go,
Your mind makes up thoughts that only you control,
Stop holding on and start falling forward,
If thoughts bite your tongue,
Prove them wrong,
And fall forwards.


GROWING YOUNG LYRIC © Ben Wittrock
We’re vaccinated to block out all passionate thought,
While we’re fascinated living life on such small screens,
While motivated to work toward such false securities.

Well I’m still screaming,
“No! I won’t be what I’m told, (what I’m told)
Cause I’m not growing up before I grow old,
No I’m not growing up before I grow old.”

We’ll paint the Yellow Brick Road black.
‘Cause we know what we want,
And there’s no turning back;
On all of these songs,
That move us along.
As our youth keeps growing young;

I’m screaming “No,
“No! I won’t be what I’m told, (what I’m told),
Cause I’m not growing up before I grow old,
No I’m not growing up before I grow old.”

Cause in our own lives,
As the first ones to come,
We’ll be the last ones to leave,
We won’t be part of a corporate majority.
Cause in our own lives,
As the first ones to come,
And as the last ones to leave,
We won’t be growing up,
We’ll be growing young.

We won’t be what we’re told,
Cause we’re not growing up before we grow old,
No we’re not growing up before we grow old.

Comments (3)

  1. Adam Crace

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Say hey, get anything (ANYTHING! Including innuendos, complaints and contemplations...) off of your chest, ask us a question regarding bookings, advice, or a good joke to cheer you up; and we'll reply! We're in this together. Keep it real, keep it pure and keep it honest. - Your pal, Ben.

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