I am thankful that someone actually receives the prize that was promised by all those fairytales that drugged us

He once cut out one of my nightmares out of paper
I thought it was beautiful, I put it on a record cover
And I tried to tell him that he had a sense of color and composition so magnificent
And he said "thank you, please, but your flattery is truly not becoming me.
Your eyes are poor. You are blind. You see, no beauty could have come from me.
I am a waste of breath, of space, of time.

Bright Eyes - Waste of paint