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Look he drank straight from the faucet
Holy shit he's fucking lost it
We only enjoy fine sparkling water
Fed something adhesive to your daughter
Look he drank straight from the faucet
Holy shit he's fucking lost it
We only enjoy fine sparkling water
Fed something adhesive to your daughter
Call me old-fashioned, but I think trains kick ass
I don't need hot wheels to get to class
What the hell is wrong with him?
His hairs so long it needs a trim
I heard he packs a lot in those bloomers
It's probably true like all the other rumors
You think you're modern, but that taste won't last
It just won't last
And everything you own will be (Will be) the fucking past
The fucking past
Cynicism save me
Turn me around and march me back up the sidewalk to my door
Take me back inside and throw my trench-coat on the floor
Lead me back into my bedroom
And make me put my clothes back on
Grab the mag-lite, get the grappling hook
Lets find the bottom of this cave and close the book
The salt on my lips is an enzyme
That metabolizes reality
To fuel these dirty delusions
You're leading me to these conclusions
The organs exploding in my torso
Like a series of city blocks giving into a nuclear blast
And now my pressure relief valve is activated
Maybe I should stop holding my breath
I'll prove it, come sit next to me
Tell me what you do at work you half-hearted intimacy
We'll be like gay actors
Over and out
Having the kind of sex sacrificial virgins fantasize about
But if I knew your name, it would have to be for charity
Just try me, test me, release me
Cynicism reassure me that
If we only had less clothing and better light
It would all just be an embarrassing misunderstanding
The sudden silences aren't the crash
Where lips should be
If this were a contract I wouldn't sign
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