Yeah you look good in that black light,
clothes gold like a mirror,
wanna see my reflection.
Your hands up like a question,
wanna get close,
whisper something awful,
I don't think the sugar cube told it to me.
I know when they come to dig us up,
I know what they'll find:
skeletons dancing,
at the scene of the crime.
Think I know what you're thinking:
I run my mouth too much.
"That's low-pH talk. Big visions, huh?"
Yeah well I see plastic and glass in shards,
actinides, twisted steel rebar.
They're gonna know us by the hell of it,
in that groove like a burial,
do you get down to it?
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