He ironed his shirt and pressed his pantsnAnd with a dull empty sadness hanging over his heartnHe shined his shoes.n'It's better than working for a living', the waitress said.nBut all the time inside, Johnny's heart was breakingnopen wide.nPlaying in that half empty Twilight Room on a SaturdaynJohnny tried to dream his life awaynHoping that he would wake up in the beam of a super troopernWishing that he was much cooler.nAll he heard his head say wasnLife ain't like that.nIn the sorrow of his dressing room he satnSo he drains the bottlenLoads the gunnWrites the notenNo-one will comenPulls the triggernBreaks the glassnThe man in the mirrornis dead at last.nnThe note said Stick your club right up your ass,nThis gig stinks, you're second class,nI'm going to save my pride, keep my head,nIf people ask, that singer's dead.nSo when every hour seems like a daynAnd nothing seems to go your way.nDon't let those bastards drag you downnYou've got to hold on to what you've gotnDon't swan dive off a bottle topnAll you got to do is blow that town.