Our milk carton child the apocalypse A glorified guillotine strapped to our heads Some wine fueled nights we look up and get a grip But there's no string, there's no skin on our fingertips
Getting uncomfortable around here, it's the least i can do I built a house in paradox just for us to break into The whole town is out in their sunday shoes To tiptoe around the fuse
And we burn it all down We raise it up Turn it around There's a knife fight in the street, i bring yarrow and sage I don't know how this works but so far no one's complaining I got matchsticks in my slacks, i want my cut of the empire What a time to be alive, what a time to be a liar
And we burn it all down We raise it up Turn it around And we burn it all down We raise it up Burn it all downTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
