Testo Affection, Abandon, Affliction

That empty seat, that vacant chair makes me doubt anyone will ever care
as much as me, as much as us about this proverbial rusting bus
an elegy to all that we half-wittedly and whole-heartedly have tried to recover from atrophy
(but we all know how tasteless people can be)

(childhood heroes) we've raised our glasses to these songs
(fallen idols) with cracking voices sung along
(timeless anthem) we'll still revere it when it's gone (turning in it's grave) I hope I'll be there one day

though we can't bring back what was before
there's always hope for something more to storm the castle, kick down the door

the level of success is not measured in paychecks not quantified by press

that empty seat, that vacant chair made me doubt anyone would ever care
as much as us, and some of you about this beautiful music that we listen to
and though we're few and far between we sing these songs and share these dreams
(and that will always stay perfectly clear to me)