Can we recover from this?

Nothing can stop us now

No thoughts of dying no more self loathing for today

There is no way out of detention

And in the morning creep out the door

Wake up knowing you'll never be there

The street where I'm from, in the town where I live is now barely even there

Enough self-mutilation. I've water-logged and choked.

The music turns alone

The cities wear a badge that differentiates but it's the same exact shit that the dirt and sea hate

Maybe tomorrow I won't look back on tonight with vomit soaked regrets

But I'm titillated, it's tantalizing

The way you hate me with your grin

I'll be burning out like a shooting star

The couples are sweet in their love

From barber chairs and baseball gloves

Hey friend, when you gonna take me home?

Telephone, telephone

There's 4 lungs on fire and 4 burning eyes

Things have changed forever.

In a slowly fleeing summer

A six month recurring dream

All my friends are bartenders in all the coolest bars

And it felt so strange cuz I didn't know what to say,

You're so easy to believe in.

We sat on the street with our beers and our weed and we blew our smoke up towards the sky

There's a wounded sense of pride and a pain in my fist

The girls, they don't love us anymore now, because we wear black shirts and took a new vow.

The clocks are flipping on their backs

Fuck yous and thems have fucked me up

Watching the Simpsons afraid to call you

That what you learned on your trip to the zoo is that animals do what animals do.

This is morning, waking up when you're still at the bar

Nevermore, nevertheless

Leveling, graveling, gravelly groans exude my exhaustion, canonize all my tomes

Anchor down (raise the sail)

What did you scream into your telephone? Telephone!

There's a better life waiting on the outside of these decaying walls

Is it just too hard for you to say goodbye?

The snow everywhere reminds us of the rain

Icy eyes can you see through my disguise?

Faster and faster, I'm burning the gears

Tuesday evening dyes a room blue

I'm dying to breathe through your tight pigeon hole.

Repressed in living scenes

I'm saving myself for something beautifully true

Displacement, the basement, isolation cemented, relented, six stairs down

They're the two young white squatter kids with dirty undershirts and rotten teeth

Were you hopeful at seventeen?

I spent the night out on the wire again but I wasn't looking for a savior