| What a waste of a smoke machine
|
| Took the taste of the dopamine
|
| And left me high and dry
|
| Call the cops, call the cavalry
|
| Spin the tops that’ll dazzle me
|
| And give me a new supply
|
| There’s a layer below, underneath all the layers that I knew
|
| So I pay when you go but it only convinces me that you are
|
| Good for me
|
| Good for
|
| Just a little bit of what I need
|
| To soothe an appetite that I can’t feed
|
| Isn’t that good for me?
|
| Accessorizing before the fact
|
| Alibis couldn’t stay intact
|
| As guilty as a gun
|
| So you dig, so you move some earth
|
| Tunnel down out of Leavenworth
|
| Or set the fuse and run
|
| Blasting deep underground, getting down to the Continental Shelf
|
| I’ll pretend I’m surprised by the lies that I’m telling to myself
|
| That you’re good for me
|
| Good for me
|
| Good for
|
| Under cover of your rifle fire
|
| I slipped the traces and I tripped the wire
|
| Isn’t that good for me?
|
| And in the searchlight I can see
|
| The rotors kicking up debris
|
| The cloud, the dust, the blades are me
|
| Good for me |