Don't Be Like the Sun
Lemon Demon Lyrics

The king of Mars perfects his commentary skills.
The ruler of the planet Mars is improving his public speaking abilities.

I'm a gold plated man monkey full of dollar bills.
I am wealthy and flashy, like a monkey that has been coated in precious metal.

If you're happier, dial one now.
If you are feeling content, press the number one on your phone.

Don't be fooled by gravity, and don't be like the sun.
Do not let the force of gravity deceive you, and do not imitate the sun.

(Something went wrong, I hate this song.)
An error occurred, and the artist dislikes the current music.

And if I could change one thing about the weather, well then I would tell the world and I'd become famous, and then I wouldn't need to care about the weather never ever anymore ‘cause I would be relaxing in Hawaii.
If I had the power to alter one aspect of the climate, I would publicize it and achieve renown, rendering me apathetic towards meteorology as I enjoy leisure time in Hawaii.

But that is not my fate, I'm trapped inside a cage.
However, I am destined to be confined within a structure.

It isn't even locked, but I'm an idiot.
Although it is not even secured, my own foolishness renders me unable to escape.

(It's an illusion.)
This is merely a figment of my imagination.

Caesar was a criminal, but his mother was a saint, some say that it's subliminal, but I say that it ain't.
Julius Caesar was a lawbreaker, but his maternal figure was virtuous. This notion is believed by some to be an understated message, but I disagree.

Science was a masquerade, meant to sell you lemonade, and it worked, they're laughing in their graves.
Science is a deceitful guise, designed to promote a mediocre product. It was successful, as evidenced by the posthumous amusement of those involved.

Once again I'm falling down a mountain like a metaphor.
I am once again experiencing a decline in my life comparable to a literary device.

(God damn leprechauns, god damn leprechauns.)
Expressing frustration towards mischievous Irish mythological creatures.

Shoot me from a cannon to the moon without a helmet on my head, or even oxygen to breathe in the offhand chance that there's no Air.
Project me via a cannon towards the Earth's natural satellite without respiratory protection, in the unlikely event that the lunar environment does not have any atmosphere.

Air is like a something something, air is like an I don't know, And air is just like fog but it's not gray, and it makes me want to Breathe in toxic little fumes and then I breathe out sugar-frosted blood.
Air can be described as an ambiguous concept that eludes adequate description, much like a phenomenon that is difficult to articulate. The prospect of inhaling hazardous substances is alluring to me, which prompts me to exhale a fanciful substance.

(What do I do now? Tell me lest I do nothing… guardian devil.)
Asking for guidance regarding the next course of action, lest they become stagnant, possibly directed towards an imaginary overseer.

I'd like to make a toast to all the little garden gnomes, Who bravely sacrificed their lives for me.
I propose a celebratory gesture towards the tiny sculptural figures that have valiantly perished on my behalf.

I'd like to make a toast but no one seems to have a cup.
Although I express a desire to raise a glass in admiration, there are no vessels present.

I wonder where my cup has gone I think that it was taken by The king of Mars perfects his commentary skills. I'm a gold plated man monkey full of dollar bills.
I ponder about the location of my missing container, and deduce that it may have been appropriated by the ruler of the aforementioned planet or an ostentatious individual.

You've been standing there, blocking my view.
Your presence in my line of sight is hindering my ability to observe my surroundings.

Don't be scared by me or me, and don't be like the sun.
Do not let me or yourself instill fear into your psyche, and do not resemble the characteristics of the sun.

(Because the sun doesn't really exist, it's an illusion, That's why you shouldn't be like the sun, Because if you are, you don't exist, and I don't associate with people who don't exist.)
The sun is not an actual tangible object, but rather a product of one's perceptions. Therefore, shaping oneself to be like the sun would also infer non-existence, and the artist refuses to associate themselves with those that do not exist.