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I'll burn my mortal years like fuel
Make a weapon of my pain and my madness into a tool
Caffeine, sugar, red-eye, snuff: Run my engines ragged and rough
This world hasn't given me reason to play it cool
I can't tell where the paint becomes a trail of blood
I've run my tracks so deep in flesh like ruts in the mud
I'm a bucket of failing bits I know,
This condition is tradition put your foot through the transmission
Shift, shift, shift
‘ere we go!
Gimme salt and iron in my maw
Grind my teeth like gears on words that cut like saws
I feel a stinging in the nostrils kinda like petrol fire I'm well aware
Of the ground I'm losing, slipping through my claw
Paint it red the faster to its death it goes
This condition is tradition put a cork in the emission and
Shoot, shoot shoot
Backfire, ‘ere we go!

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