| You said what?
|
| Fuck, no
|
| No, fuck off
|
| I ain’t fucking paranoid
|
| Let’s go back to corridors of mine and also yours
|
| Where the dust lays on the shelf in this the quiet hell
|
| Of cigarettes and trains and plastic and bad brains
|
| And heartbreak lays upon the self of this the new born hell, well
|
| Times sands, times sands, times sands they fall
|
| They fall in to the class, well
|
| Turn it upside down, turn it upside down, turn it upside down it falls
|
| It falls into the glass
|
| Make shift roaching as I sweat
|
| Rush hour and I’m not meant to sweat
|
| But they forgive me that I’m sure
|
| Here comes the Monday law
|
| Of cigarettes and trains and plastic and bad brains
|
| And heartbreak lays upon the self of this the another hell, well
|
| Times sands, times sands, times sands they fall
|
| They fall in to the glass, well
|
| Turn it upside down, turn it upside down, turn it upside down it falls
|
| It falls into the glass
|
| It falls into the glass
|
| It falls into the glass
|
| We hoover on the plastic and bad brains
|
| Hoover on the plastic and bad brains
|
| We hoover on the plastic and bad brains
|
| Hoover on the plastic and bad brains
|
| Hoover on the plastic and bad brains
|
| Hoover on the plastic and bad brains
|
| Hoover on the plastic and bad brains
|
| We fall into the glass |