This is a war we live And the sides are drawn, sides are drawn And we're all wrapped up in fatigues And they wear us out, wear us out There is a storm
Do you hear the jet plane yawning miles across the sky? Hear the garbage truck back down in boulevard Setting off the car alarms as it passes by Do you
Three chalk outlines sleep in the dirty street And in our beds, under the sheets They're the halo of guilt hanging around your neck Next to the rosary
Standing on the edge of the Palisades' Cliffs In the shadow of the skyline very far away Like a lightning rod that couldn?t pull the storm from me I was
The stage is set to rip the wings from a butterfly, the stage is set, don't forget to breathe, between lines if the whole world dies, then it's safe to
Lights out on Division St. And all the hate that rises Through the cracks in the pavement As the temperature falls (This is where is hits the ground)
In the circuit the frequency's breaking up The speakers can barely move (This is not a test) (Tune to the broadcast) Witness the jet lag Look in the mirror
In the veins of the ultraviolet light The phosphor is starting a fire Shooting up in the iodine It's turning on Rupture, rapture, rapture the wall around
Steps ascend to a loaded gun The scent of matches hangs in the air A lit one flickers out in a heart beat We don't want to see this A flash of light that
Falling from the top floor your lungs, fill like parachutes Windows go rushing by People inside, dressed for the funeral in black and white These ties
This is what you see when you look in my direction Incandescent corsets draw eyes tight like wires This is how it feels calling out but no one even hears
Standing on the edge of the palisades cliffs In the shadow of the skyline very far away A lightning rod that couldn?t pull the storm from me I was 5
Tradução: Jueves. Guerra de Todo el tiempo.
In the veins of the ultraviolet light, the phosphor is starting a fire shooting up in the iodine; its turning on (rupture) rupture the wall around my
three chalk outlines sleep in the dirty street and in our beds, under the sheets, they're the halo of guilt hanging around your neck, next to the
Falling from the top floor your lungs fill like parachutes windows go rushing by. people inside, dressed for the funeral in black and white. These
Lights out on Division Street and all the hate that rises through the cracks in the pavement, as the temperature falls. (This is where is hits the
this is a war we live and the sides are drawn (the sides are drawn). and we're all wrapped up in fatigues and they wear us out (wear us out). there is