| It’s a quixotic quest on a hot summer’s night
|
| I got a fistful of fireworks
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| I’m gonna try and set things right
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| I lost my inhibitions
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| I think I may have lost my wallet too
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| This dying land of plenty
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| There’s a whole lot of nothing to do
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| Oh, I’m Billy Pilgrim you’re a Dresden doll
|
| They carpet bomb the city
|
| Thank God they spared the mall
|
| Let’s hold a vigil
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| For the kinda, sorta innocent
|
| I guess I should defend your virtue
|
| But the truth is I’m still on the fence
|
| And old Heinrich Himmler, he never broke the law
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| Well, technically speaking as Sam Peckinpah
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| Sometimes you need a vigilante if you want to get a just thing done
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| And I don’t want to kill nobody
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| Whose only crime is worshiping the sun
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| Breakfast of napalm
|
| Burn down the place where I belong
|
| Arch rivals make love
|
| And they gotta keep it secret
|
| They still do it with the lights on
|
| And I got bad nostalgia for what came before
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| Sad reenactments of a civil war
|
| My heartache is obsessive
|
| I just wish that I could let it go
|
| But there’s a mountain down in Georgia
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| With a kickass laser light show
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| And I can always convice you you’re just like Patty Hearst
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| Or you’re sympathetic, baby, when I’m at my worst
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| I don’t want to brainwash you
|
| I just wish that you would change your tune
|
| 'Cause I’ve been gunning for redemption
|
| And I think I’ll hit the bullseye soon
|
| Chartreuse and menthols
|
| Burn down the town that we were from
|
| I lost my true love to a three-alarm fire
|
| They tried to put out with a squirt gun
|
| Sing little child like a Nightingale
|
| Sing little child, send me anthrax through the mail
|
| I wanna to know you, I wanna know if you are true
|
| Because the closer I get to you is the further that I feel from you
|
| Breakfast of napalm
|
| Burn down the place where we belong
|
| Arch rivals make love
|
| And they gotta keep the secret
|
| They gotta keep it secret
|
| They gotta keep it secret
|
| They still do it with the lights on |