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Growing tired of bedside resolve. Public display of depression.
Something's got to give now. Something's going to break down.
I grow tired of writing songs, where people listen but never hear what's really going on now.
Tell me what's so wrong now.
Clap your hands all ye children.
There's a clamor in your whispering.
Clap your hands tonight.
Hear what the silence screams.
Clap your hands. (Clap your hands now all ye children.)
Clap your hands all ye children.
There's a clamor in your whispering tonight.
For most who live and breathe, Hell is never knowing who they are now.
Tell me who you are now.
Finally safe from the outside.
Trapped in what you know.
Are you safe from yourself?
Can you escape all by yourself?
Clap your hands all ye children.
There's a clamor in your whispering.
Hear what the silence will scream.
Clap your hands tonight.
Clap your hands. (Clap your hands all ye children.)
Clap your hands all ye children.
There's a clamor in your whispering tonight.
Clap your hands all ye children.
There's a clamor in your whispering.
Clap your hands tonight.
Hear what the silence screams.
It's not the lies that you say.
But what the silence will scream.
It's not the lies that you say.
But what the silence will scream.
It's not the lies that you say.
But what the silence will scream.
Clap your hands all ye children.
There's a clamor in your whispering.
Clap your hands tonight.
Hear what the silence screams.
Clap your hands. (Clap your hands now all ye children.)
Clap your hands all ye children.
There's a clamor in your whispering tonight.