| If you’re keeping score then you’re bound to win,
|
| A birds eye view of a burning bridge,
|
| You’ve gone through ghost towns settle past,
|
| Hoping the risk was worth a cause,
|
| Oh, sound off the false alarm,
|
| But i’ll make my own colleague from wood and from ivory,
|
| And reap the rewards of proximity,
|
| I’ll assemble my equal from what I lack and require,
|
| And gather what’s left unaccompanied,
|
| It smells like disaster,
|
| It looks like a trap,
|
| So go by the wayside,
|
| And never look back,
|
| If you could spare me forty winks,
|
| While you cry wolf and I count sheep,
|
| What good old ghosts in Kevlar vests,
|
| With backbones like a jellyfish,
|
| Oh, stomp on your land again,
|
| But i’ll make my own colleague from wood and from ivory,
|
| And reap the rewards of proximity,
|
| I’ll assemble my equal from what I lack and require,
|
| And gather what’s left unaccompanied,
|
| It smells like disaster,
|
| It looks like a trap,
|
| So go by the wayside,
|
| And never look back,
|
| If you are keeping score then you are bound to win,
|
| A ring side seat at the main event,
|
| Oh, stomp on your land again,
|
| It smells like disaster,
|
| It looks like a trap,
|
| So go by the wayside,
|
| And never look back. |