there's someone running through the ramp parkade
spilling out over the sides like brush fire
burning the roof top concrete
and bouncing off pillars in the oil stain dark
Stabbing out holes in white walls
wrist wrapped fist
let it out! let it out!
cutting though clothes
I keep a close eye on the skyline
who's in the paper and who sings the blues
who sits down at the back
who stands in line
who's got nothing else left to lose
stabbing out holes in white walls
wrist wrapped fist
let it out! let it out!
cutting though clothes
seriously loud
this is a serious town
violently not making a sound