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Out on the wall sounds of banging is constant coming from your head |
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And desperate the calls came and ringing from those wanna wring your neck |
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Wring your neck |
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Open your mouth sounds of breathing found it spilling from your face |
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Best to be dim to the humble of traffic stepping on your name |
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Count on us all follow our own swords tonight |
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And chilling walk home down the portions roads there leading straight to your place |
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And look like the tin can with swallows the kitchen plugging up your space |
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Count on us all stepping on our own toes tonight |
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Count on us all stepping on our own toes |
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Count on us all falling on our own swords tonight |
