Hey, you.
Come and sing me an honest song and leave out all the gory details.
It's true: we're just too goddamn tired to say something of our own.
As the tyrants of the trenches in the folds of our stomachs,
We fight our hunger pains for our busted guts lust for broken bread,
And our tired heads.
Trust that of a woman's touch tonight.
Just for kicks, i'm rolling with the punches.
(punch drunk!)
Punch drunk drinking you under the table.
Trying to regurgitate some of the pride that you begged for me to swallow.
Masquerades and detonations.
That's what she said.
(that's what she said, that's what she said)
I'm not brave enough to be artistic.
To be anything you wanted from me. to be anything you wanted from me.
I'm not brave enough to be artistic.
She said that, "you all had it coming. my name is atom and the ground keeps getting closer."
So we'll watch the fireworks and hold on for dear life.
One way or another we all have to give up everything.
Your scream is engineering.
The breezes in this comatose, metropolis, acropolis.
Like rain, falling glass catches the tips of our tongues.
Severing our feet on the sidewalks as we run.
Masquerades and detonations.
(that's what she said, that's what she said).
Let me keep grinding my teeth and pissing scarlet floods.
I've been running long enough to bother with these cuts.
I'm not brave enough to be artistic.
To be anything you wanted from me.
To be anything you wanted.
To be anything you wanted from me.
So are you in or out on this one way ticket, care of a falling bomb?
You know you're just as well.
It's a lose-lose situation.
You know you're falling out.
Out of time, out of luck, out of dreams and aspirations.
The ground keeps getting closer, oddly enough.