| You spread your rusty fingers across the ledge
|
| You get your grip and peer down over the edge
|
| You watch the city move and breathe and migrate
|
| You’re not a part of it; |
| you’re broken now, like us
|
| I turn and brush the birds from off my shoulders
|
| And cross sidewalks with an earful of white noise
|
| You sit up on your perch for the rest of the night
|
| You watch the moon and hope the damn thing crumbles
|
| You count the stars reflecting in the windows
|
| And then you realize just how minimal you are
|
| I stop and watch the airplanes leave the city
|
| And I silently wish I was on one
|
| You sit down slow and watch yourself in the glass
|
| You reach inside and tear out all your cables
|
| Snakes of smoke are dripping from your fingers
|
| You have no body — just a cage to hold your parts
|
| I have no answers; |
| I’m rambling
|
| I was never one to solve whatever has gone wrong
|
| You lie down on the roof and watch the sun rise
|
| Its burning fingers rummage through your insides
|
| And for a moment you feel like you’re alive
|
| And then it’s gone, so you get up
|
| Up, up, up, baby, there’s blood on the sidewalks of this town
|
| They’ve got, they’ve got us, they’ve got us on the ropes
|
| But we don’t have to take it lying down anymore
|
| Our hands aren’t tied now
|
| Down, down, baby, down in the in the center of this town
|
| They’ve got, they’ve got 'em, they’ve got 'em buried deep
|
| Under layers of concrete are the bones of our past
|
| Oh no, no
|
| We’ll leave on the evening train
|
| It won’t be long, but it feels that way
|
| But home never meant very much to us anyway
|
| So we convince ourselves that we’re better off gone
|
| And maybe we’re right
|
| (Da-da-da-dum, ba bum)
|
| (Da-da-da-dum, ba bum)
|
| And we collapse on a road
|
| On an old dirt road where the sun
|
| Doesn’t look like such a waste
|
| And we fall asleep under leaves
|
| Of a couple of the nearby trees
|
| And we never wake again
|
| Never again
|
| No, never again
|
| No, never again |