|
What a beautiful way to fake it |
|
A sort of graceful defeat |
|
We pound a pattern out on the pavement |
|
We sound the siren out through the streets |
|
Advance with perfect nonchalance |
|
To the staccato of the rifle report |
|
Don't marvel at our confidence |
|
It's just bravado that a blindfold affords |
|
You tell me that you wanna stop the war |
|
But baby you can't dance if there's no floor |
|
Motion isn't meaning |
|
It's just another drug |
|
But it's all we've got... |
|
What a way to keep it together |
|
A black box, a prescription for speed |
|
We found a freeway that goes on forever |
|
We drown the demon in the deep black sea |
|
Shield your eyes |
|
Keep running to the rhythm of the rifle repeating |
|
Paralyzed |
|
But I gotta keep movin' if I wanna keep breathing |
|
You tell me that you wanna stop the war |
|
But baby you can't dance if there's no floor |
|
Motion isn't meaning |
|
It's just another drug |
|
But it's all we've got... we've got nowhere to go |
|
I'll take the knife or the easy chair |
|
We are but gods for a moment |
