Lyrics Breaking Out - The Protomen

Breaking Out

This city doesn’t know what’s coming
She doesn’t feel the heat
This city won’t know what hit her
What knocked her out into the streets
This city’s thinking that it’s over
And she’s already fast asleep
So I’m breaking out of here tonight
I am ready!
We’re given only what we need
Only the chance to survive
And even then, it’s a coin toss
A roll of the dice
There’s gotta be something better
Somewhere that feels more alive
So I’m breaking out of here tonight
I’m breaking out of here
You’ve gotta feel it girl
Feel the wind pick up
It feels like something’s gonna change (Something's gotta change)
But there’s no use putting it in drive
If all the wheels are stuck
There’s something wrong here (Something's wrong here)
Like this whole city wants to scream
But no one makes a sound
But, you’ve got to feel it, baby (Something's wrong here)
So I’m gonna find out what it is
And I’m gonna tear it down
Joe turned to a girl who’d been ignoring him all night, leaned in,
and whispered in her ear
The engine’s running, baby
We don’t have time for goodbyes
I know you can’t come with me
I see that look in your eyes
So kiss me fast
Cause there’s no time to lose
Leave the light on
I’ll come back for you
When everything is said and done
I swear I’m gonna make it right
I’m breaking out of here tonight
I’m breaking out of here tonight
I’m breaking out of here tonight
I’m breaking out of here tonight
Joe leaned in and stole a quick kiss from the girl.
She smiled and made a move
to slap him but he was already out of reach.
He kicked the door open and tore
out into the dark streets.
Fire in his blood.
He didn’t know exactly where he
was going.
Only that he was moving.
And moving was something
The slight breeze against his forehead meant that something was changing.
He raised his voice, crying out against the quiet, constant hum of the city.
From the windows high above the streets, a few concerned women called out to
him to keep his voice down.
For his own sake.
For all their safety
I’m so tired of giving up
I am so tired of giving in
You wake up knowing things should change
Not knowing where to begin
This city won’t say where she’s going
She won’t speak of where she’s been
So I’m breaking out of here tonight…
Break out
Without noticing where he was heading, he’d reached his home — or his former
home — his mother’s house.
She’d vanished three years ago.
He hadn’t been back
since.
His father had been gone now for nearly ten.
Heading around back,
he made a straight line for a small workshop, set apart from the house
His father’s motorbike was there.
A relic.
A gas engine bolted to an iron frame.
He kicked the engine a few times and the bike roared to life.
As he turned
onto the street and opened the throttle — the sound of combustion savaging the
silence of the night air — he could almost make out the sound of the collective
gasp let out by the neighborhood.
He could almost imagine window after window
opening above the street line.
Frightened face after frightened face leaning
out into the bright glow of the streetlamps.
Timid voice after timid voice
telling him, speaking in unison
A chorus of fear
Ooh, don’t turn your back on the city
Ooh, don’t turn your back on the city
Ooh, don’t turn your back on the city
Ooh, don’t turn your back on the city
Joe ignored the voices.
He thought perhaps he was the only one who hadn’t
turned his back.
He kicked the shifter
Say a prayer for all the children still sleeping (Ooh, don’t turn your back on
the city)
3rd gear
Say a prayer for all the fathers who still remember (Ooh, don’t turn your back
on the city)
4th
Say a prayer for all the girls who’ve learned to stand up (Ooh, don’t turn your
back on the city)
5th
Say a prayer for all the boys who won’t surrender
Sometimes I just want to drive
Until the streets run out
I want to burn until there’s
Nothing left to burn about
This city’s waiting for a better day
When I get back there will be hell to pay
If I’m the only one left standing
I will not be afraid to fight
So I’m breaking out of here tonight
I feel a fever coming on me
Burning out of control
And I hear nothing but the static (Nothing but the static)
For years now there’s been nothing
But the static on the radio
If you can hear my voice outside these walls (If you can hear me)
If you can hear me sending out this message tonight
Then break the silence, send a signal back (If you can hear me)
I’m coming, all I need is a little guiding light…
…if you can hear me
Don’t turn your back on the city
If you can hear me
Don’t turn your back on the city
Then break the silence, send a signal back
Don’t turn your back on the city
Then break the silence, send a signal back
I’m coming, all I need is a little guiding light
Don’t turn your back on the city
Don’t turn your back on the city
I’m coming, all I need is a little guiding light
If you can hear me
If you can hear me
If you can hear me
Don’t turn your back on the city
Store fronts gave way to warehouses
Warehouses to abandoned factories
Factories to the slums of the city
He’d followed the line of the electric rail for almost an hour.
The outskirts.
A place to which men now rarely ventured.
The dark streets flickered under
failing street lamps.
Away from the machines.
Away from the people trying to
keep him silent.
He should be feeling free.
He wasn’t.
He was feeling something
else.
A wariness.
A hesitation.
Joe let off the throttle.
As his father’s bike
slowed to a crawl, he understood that feeling he’d had ever since he’d decided
to leave the city.
That hesitation he’d felt was the knowledge that he was
being watched.
Watched when he kissed the girl at the bar goodbye.
Watched when he left his mother’s house.
Watched even now… Miles from the
heart of the city
A face in the shadows…
He stopped the bike in the middle of the street, silenced the engine,
and lowered the kickstand.
There was no traffic.
No metal footsteps patrolling
the streets.
But the familiar sound of the telescreens reached even here.
Joe stood watching the face on the screen.
It babbled incessantly,
but said nothing
Over the sound of the screen, Joe heard footsteps, slow and deliberate,
echoing from the darkness of the alleyway.
Kneeling down, Joe placed one hand
on the street beside him, the other reached for the knife in his boot.
He recalled the stories the children of the city loved to repeat about the
red-eyed assassin.
«Light's Monster,» they called it.
The footsteps emerged
from the darkness of the alley and into the uneven glow of the flickering
street lights.
Joe stood, his hand loosening its grip on the knife
It was a gray-haired man
Joe was about to speak when the old man lifted a finger and pointed past him,
into the darkness.
Joe turned to see a single red light pulsing from the
depths of the alleyway behind him