Besedila: Lawrence Arms. Cocktails And Dreams. Turnstiles.

With a light of this match i could burn this place to the ground then fire engines'd scream down crowded streets onto the scene and then i'd make it rain numb myself to never say your name that i've uttered in anger said with confusion laughed over nervously said without sympathy I must all ways remeber there no point to surrender no more smiles; revolving like turnstiles no more deliberation; analytical creations see i'm incapable, a predepressionist this is delivered with courage muddled in tension lashed out in honesty someone come and save me i'm dying to tell you this kills it forever we were already dead and i'm just fine i haven't called you but i haven't had the time these thoughts are stale i've been revolving like turnstiles