Out on the wall, sounds of banging is constant coming from your head
And desperate the calls came and ringing from those wanna wring your neck
Your neckOpen your mouth, sounds of breathing found it spilling from your face
Best to be dim to the humble of traffic stomping on your name
Count on us all falling on our own swords tonightAnd chilling walk home down the portions of roads there leading straight to your place
And look like the tin can would swallow the kitchen plugging up your spaceCount on us all stepping on our own toes tonight
Count on us all stepping on our own toes
Count on us all falling on our own swords tonight
