|
We stumble and stare at the carnival lights that lit up |
|
New York City, |
|
From the rooftop in |
|
Brooklyn that was covered in bad graffiti. |
|
And then I let a thousand splinters pierce right through my spoiled liver, |
|
Whatever that was left of it.' |
|
Cuz I cursed my lonely memory with picture-perfect imagery. |
|
Maybe I'm not dying |
|
I'm just living in decaying cities, |
|
But I'm still healthy, |
|
I'm still fine, |
|
I'll be spending all my time readin' the obituaries. |
|
But I will fuck this up, |
|
I fucking know it. |
|
I will fuck this up, |
|
I fucking know it. |
|
I will fuck this up, |
|
I fucking know it. |
|
I will fuck this up, |
|
I fucking know it.' |
|
Cuz I am the shadow of the wax wing slave. |
|
I felt the buzz issued from window panes. |
|
I am just freaking out, yeah |
|
I'll be fine. |
|
But I will fuck this up, |
|
I fucking know it. |
|
I will fuck this up, |
|
I fucking know it. |
|
I will fuck this up, |
|
I fucking know it. |
|
I will fuck this up, |
|
I fucking know it. |
