Texty: Semisonic. Great Divide. The Prize.

The night of a thousand verses
One thousand friends said have you heard
What we expected

We are all working late and
Waiting to win a prize we don't deserve
And live to collect it

Can't you see I'm weary
Maybe this news can wait

The night of a thousand verses
One thousand strivers strain to hear
A voice that's left us

And the magazines still have to sell us
Twelve mastergeniuses a year
It's all so shameless

Can't you see I'm weary
Maybe this news can wait

Can't you see I'm blurry
Maybe this news can wait

Maybe there was a message in it
I don't know where you hid it
Maybe there was a piece that will fit
I don't know where to fit it

Tell me what kind of prize can you get
Where you don't want to win it?

Can't you see I'm weary
Maybe this news can wait

Can't you see I'm blurry
Maybe this blues can wait