December
Monday 2 November 2009 photo 1/4
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I wrote the gospel on giving up.
(You look pretty sinking,)
But the real bombshells have already sunk.
(Prima-donnas of the gutter.)
At night we're painting your trash gold while you sleep.
Crashing not like hips or cars,
No, more like p-p-p-parties.
This ain't a scene, it’s a goddamned arms race.
This ain't a scene, it’s a goddamned arms race.
This ain't a scene, it’s a goddamned arms race.
Bandwagon's full,
Please, catch another.
(You look pretty sinking,)
But the real bombshells have already sunk.
(Prima-donnas of the gutter.)
At night we're painting your trash gold while you sleep.
Crashing not like hips or cars,
No, more like p-p-p-parties.
This ain't a scene, it’s a goddamned arms race.
This ain't a scene, it’s a goddamned arms race.
This ain't a scene, it’s a goddamned arms race.
Bandwagon's full,
Please, catch another.
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